#she’ll be introduced in a chapter or two

[ashpkat]

the guardian (of the archives) ?!?

[cameronsbabydoll]

SUGAR-COATED CHAINS — CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

WARNINGS — honestly this chapter is sorta messy and angsty. we introduce her family in this so yup! rafe and ward are icky and low key sexist. it’s sorta sad honestly

The decision isn’t sudden. Not really.

Rafe has always known you belong to him. That was never up for debate. But lately, something in him has shifted. It’s in the way you settle against him at night, how your hesitation fades a little more each time he reminds you that you’re his. It’s in the way your eyes flicker with uncertainty whenever you think about a life outside of the one he’s carved out for you.

That’s how he knows it’s time.

Marriage isn’t a question. It never has been. You were always going to be his wife—Rafe just needed to decide when.

And now, it feels inevitable.

There’s no hesitation when Rafe steps into his father’s office. He’s already made his choice, and Ward—he’ll understand.

Ward barely looks up from his paperwork, but something in the way Rafe moves—the quiet confidence, the deliberate drag of his fingers along the desk—makes him glance up.

"I’m proposing," Rafe says simply, dropping into the chair across from his father.

Ward exhales, leaning back slightly. "So, you finally decided."

No congratulations. No unnecessary sentimentality. Just a statement of fact.

Rafe smirks. "Wasn’t much of a decision. She’s already mine. The ring just makes it official."

Ward swirls the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid shift before lifting it to his lips. "She’ll be a good wife. Sweet. Malleable."

That word again. Malleable.

Rafe lets it settle in his chest, a slow burn of satisfaction.

"She’s already playing the part," Ward continues. "I saw the way she looked at you at dinner last week. She’s starting to understand."

Rafe nods, pleased. That’s exactly what he wanted to hear.

Ward eyes him over his glass. "Have you told her yet?"

Rafe’s lips twitch. "No need."

His father smirks, shaking his head. "Just like your old man."

—

Rafe doesn’t go alone to buy the ring.

He could have. But this is a power move—staking his claim—and he wants witnesses.

So he brings two of his business partners with him, older men, men who already have wives tucked away in mansions, women who know better than to challenge them.

The high-end jewelry store is quiet when they step inside, the kind of place where you don’t browse—you buy.

A jeweler greets them with a polished smile, hands neatly folded. "Looking for something in particular, gentlemen?"

Rafe doesn’t hesitate. He gestures toward the glass case filled with massive diamonds, pristine cuts, stones meant for women who exist only to be admired.

"Biggest one you have," he says smoothly, adjusting his watch.

The jeweler chuckles, his gaze flicking between the three men. "Shopping for a proposal?"

Rafe smirks. "More like a reminder."

The man lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t ask questions. Instead, he unlocks the case and pulls out a ring—obnoxiously expensive, a diamond that catches the light in a way that demands attention.

Rafe picks it up, rolling it between his fingers. It’s perfect.

His business partner chuckles beside him, sipping the espresso a store attendant handed him the moment they walked in. "Never thought I’d see Rafe Cameron settle down."

Rafe just exhales through his nose, handing over his black card without a second thought. "Not settling," he corrects. "Just making sure she knows what she is."

The other man hums, amused. "And what’s that?"

Rafe pockets the ring box and smirks. "Mine."

After securing the ring, they head to an exclusive bar, tucked away in one of the nicest parts of town. The kind of place where the drinks don’t have prices on the menu and the waitresses wear diamonds bigger than their salaries.

They settle into a booth, the conversation easy, familiar.

Jason, who’s been married for over a decade, raises his glass. "So, when’s the big moment?"

Rafe shrugs, swirling the bourbon in his own glass. "Soon."

Patrick smirks. "She know yet?"

Rafe chuckles. "She doesn’t need to."

Jason whistles, shaking his head. "Damn. And here I thought you’d at least ask."

"Not a question," Rafe says simply, taking a sip. "She already knows she belongs to me. This just makes it official."

Patrick laughs, knocking back his drink. "Shit. Poor girl doesn’t stand a chance."

Rafe just smirks.

Because no, you don’t.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

—

The morning starts with a message from Rafe.

Rafe: Be ready by 10. They’ll pick you up.

Your stomach twists when you open the attached itinerary.

A dress fitting. A manicure and pedicure. A facial. A blowout.

Rafe spoils you often, but this… this feels different. This feels meticulous.

Your best friend is already waiting when you step outside, practically bouncing on her heels. "Okay, seriously—what’s the occasion?"

You force a small smile. "I don’t know. Rafe just planned it."

She frowns slightly. "He didn’t tell you why?"

You shake your head.

Her expression falters, but she doesn’t push.

And maybe that’s why you love her—because even when she notices the things you refuse to, she doesn’t push.

By the time you get home, you feel like a doll—your hair in soft waves, your nails polished to perfection, your skin practically glowing.

Rafe is waiting when you walk in, leaning against the kitchen counter, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

His eyes sweep over you, slow and possessive.

"Perfect," he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

Your stomach twists.

Then he pulls something from his pocket—a small velvet box.

Your breath catches.

He flips it open, revealing the biggest diamond you’ve ever seen. It’s blinding. Overwhelming.

"Rafe—"

"You’re gonna marry me, angel," he says smoothly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You stare at him, lips parting. "I—"

His smirk deepens. "That wasn’t a question."

He takes your hand, sliding the ring onto your finger before you can even process it. The weight of it feels final.

"You’re mine," he murmurs, bringing your hand to his lips. "Now and always."

Your heart pounds.

Because deep down, you know—

This was never a choice.

—

You don’t know how long you stand there after he kisses your hand, staring at the ring like it’s something foreign, before you excuse yourself from Rafe by saying you’re going to take a bath.

The ring feels foreign on your finger, too tight even though it fits perfectly.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing yourself.

This is supposed to be a dream come true.

Then why does it feel like something’s slipping through your fingers?

Your phone sits on the counter, the screen lighting up with familiar notifications—family group chat messages you haven’t opened in weeks, a missed call from your mom you never returned.

You hesitate.

Then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you press call.

It rings twice before she picks up.

"Sweetheart!" Your mother’s voice is bright, too bright—like she’s already moved on from whatever reason she called before. "I was just thinking about you! It's been forever. Are you eating enough? Getting sleep?"

You squeeze your eyes shut. "I—yeah, Mom, I’m fine."

"Good girl." The words are automatic, like she’s talking to a child. "You know I worry when you don’t check in."

You grip the counter. "I just…" You hesitate. "Rafe proposed."

Silence.

For a second, you think the call dropped.

"Oh, honey, that’s wonderful!" she gushes. "I knew he would! He’s such a sweet boy, taking such good care of you."

Your stomach twists. "I—I don’t know if I’m ready for this."

She laughs softly, like you just told her you’re scared of the dark. "Oh, baby, don’t be silly. It’s just nerves! Every girl gets nervous before a big change."

"No, I mean—" You shake your head, frustration bubbling up. "Mom, I don’t even know if this is what I want—"

"Shh, sweetheart, don’t overthink it. You always get like this."

Like this.

Like you’re being dramatic. Like you’re just scared and not thinking clearly.

You swallow the lump in your throat.

"Mom, I just…" Your voice wavers. "I don’t know if I can do this."

"You can, baby. You just need to stop worrying so much."

You open your mouth, but she’s already moving on.

"Oh! You know who you should talk to? Your brother. He always knows what to say."

Your blood runs cold.

"Mom, no—"

"I’ll tell him to call you. He’s so good at giving advice—he's always been the level-headed one, you know that."

You know what that really means.

Your brother, the golden child. The one who always did the right thing, who never needed to be reminded how to behave, who never worried about his decisions.

Unlike you.

"Mom, please," you whisper. "I don’t need him to—"

"Oh! Even better—we’ll come visit! We can celebrate together."

The floor feels unsteady beneath you. "Mom—"

"I’ll call your father, we’ll set a date, maybe next weekend? Oh, we’ll bring champagne!"

"I don’t—"

"You should be excited, sweetheart," she interrupts, her tone patient, correcting. "This is the happiest time of your life."

The words land like a stone in your stomach.

"We’ll see you soon, baby."

The line goes dead.

And you stare at your phone.

You should’ve known better. You should’ve known that your feelings wouldn’t matter, that your uncertainty would be brushed aside like it was nothing.

Like you were nothing but a silly little girl who would fall in line eventually.

Tears well in your eyes before you can stop them.

You press your palms against the counter, sucking in a breath.

But it’s not enough.

Your shoulders shake, silent and uncontrollable.

The ring feels heavier than ever.

Before you can even wipe your tears the door creaks open.

Rafe is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you.

His gaze flicks to your phone, then to your red-rimmed eyes.

His smirk suddenly fades.

"That was your mom?"

You swallow hard, nodding.

His jaw clenches.

He already knows.

"You tell her you were happy?" His voice is low, but there’s an edge beneath it—one that makes your skin prickle.

You hesitate.

And his gaze darkens.

"You are happy, aren’t you, angel?"

His fingers tilt your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

Your lip trembles. You want to say yes, but the lie is stuck in your throat.

His grip tightens, just a little. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind you that, he’s the only one who listens.

The only one who really sees you.

Your breath shudders out.

"I—I don’t know."

His gaze flickers.

Then, slowly, his lips curl into a smirk.

"You’re just overwhelmed, angel." His voice is soft, coaxing. "They don’t get you like I do. No one does.”

Your chest tightens.

"You trust me, don’t you?"

You don’t know how to say no.

So you just nod.

His smirk deepens.

"That’s my good girl."

[corroded-hellfire]

Could we perhaps get a blurb/chapter of when Eliza was born - maybe Eddie thinking back that this is so different than how Brittany was, when Y/N got into labor, where they were and how they reacted?

+ could you write about Eliza being born? I would love to see their reactions and eddie helping reader out plss

+ Please, let us in on the labor with Eddie and Reader from "As you wish". Did Y/N curse Eddie out, threatening to kick his ass or did Eddie do a prince Harry (God I hope not) and use all the gas?

I thought this would be a good chance to tell the story of two births of two very important Munsons, ten years apart 💕

Warnings: childbirth and all that comes with it, Brittany, not a warning but the italic sections are flashbacks/in the past

Words: 7.5k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The blaring wail of Eddie’s alarm clock wakes you up from your night of fitful sleep. It’s hard to remember the last time you had a full peaceful eight hours. The soreness in your lower back and the increasing pressure in your pelvis have been your loyal companions for the past few weeks, determined on not letting you have a moment of comfort. 

Next to you, Eddie smacks his hand against the clock. The whining stops and the bed shifts as Eddie rolls over and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“Morning, gorgeous.”

Your answering groan makes your husband let out a soft chuckle as he pushes himself up into a seated position. Figuring it’ll be better to get up than continue to lay there so uncomfortably, you roll onto your side and shove yourself up until you’re sitting. A look down at your feet reveals that your ankles are swollen. Again.

“Know what today is?” Eddie asks as he opens his underwear drawer. 

“Uh huh,” you hum. The mattress springs squeak as you stand up. 

“Think she’ll make her grand entrance today?” he asks.

“Doubt it,” you say through a yawn. “Babies are never born on their due date.”

Eddie strips off his shirt and comes around the bed to give you a proper good morning kiss. 

“How you feeling, baby?”

“Peachy,” you grunt. “Gonna go get the boys up.”

Luckily, neither Ryan nor Luke gives you any trouble waking up or getting ready for school. They know how you’ve been feeling lately and have been great about helping you out when they can. 

“Bye!” Ryan says as he slips his backpack on. 

“Have a good day,” Eddie says, ruffling both boys’ hair.

You press a kiss to the top of their heads and Luke rubs a hand across your swollen belly. 

“Be good in there, Eliza!”

A smile grows on your face at his words. They head out the door to the bus stop, Ryan giving you one last wave before you close the door.

“Alright, I’m gonna head out,” Eddie says. He walks over and cups your face in his warm hands. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will,” you assure him. 

He nods and presses a sweet kiss against your lips. 

“Relax and get some rest.”

“Okay.” You give him another kiss in return. “Have a good day at work.”

“Love you, baby.”

“I love you, too.”

Not even two minutes after Eddie walks out the door, you plop down in front of the television with the remote. The only thing on at this time of day are soap operas, which have started to become an addiction of yours since there’s nothing else for you to do. 

Fortunately, one of today’s plotlines is so boring and you predicted the identical twin brother twist a week ago, so you manage to fall asleep. It’s only a cat nap, but you’ll take anything you can get these days. 

A different kind of discomfort awakens you this time. Your stomach growls so loudly it feels like it rattles the windows. You rally the strength to get up from the couch, and with a little help from the arms and back of it, you’re standing. 

An infomercial for some Chuck Norris Total Gym blathers on as background noise as you walk–or more like waddle–into the kitchen. A peanut butter and banana sandwich has been a go-to for you during this pregnancy—after Luke happily introduced it to you one day over the summer. There’s something about the rich nuttiness and the sweetness of the fruit together between two pieces of bread that makes Eliza very happy in your womb. 

Once you’ve got peanut butter spread on both slices of bread, you move to grab a banana from the fruit bowl. The moment your hand touches the yellow peel, you feel a twinge of pain shoot from your lower back, through your tummy, and down into your pelvis. Your hand braces you against the counter as you breathe through the pain. 

What the hell was that? You think to yourself. That fucking hurt.

You take a deep breath and grab the banana. As you turn back to your sandwich and peel open the piece of fruit, it hits you.

Were those…contractions? No, you tell yourself, shaking your head. It had to be something else.

“No one ever actually has their baby on the due date,” you say into the quiet kitchen. “Maybe I have to pee again. I swear, this little girl thinks my bladder is a trampoline.”

Once you’re finished up in the bathroom, you head back to finish making your sandwich. But the minute you pick up the butter knife, another stab of pain attacks.

“Oh boy,” you say, one hand dropping the knife and going to your lower back, while the other rests on your bump. “You’re ready to come out, aren’t you? You heard that doctor say ‘October 7th’ and you made a note on a calendar, huh?”

The mental image of the baby in your belly marking the date off on a calendar makes you smile as you waddle over to the phone hanging on the wall. The line rings twice before someone picks up.

“Scott’s Auto Body, this is Mark speaking. How can I help you?”

“Hi, Mark.” You breathe through another twinge of pain. “Is Eddie there?”

“Yeah, let me go grab him for you,” Mark says.

“Thanks.”

It feels like an eternity as you hear the phone being put down, shuffling noises in the background, then low murmuring voices, until finally the phone is being moved again and you finally hear your husband’s voice.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” you say. “I, um, think I’m having contractions.”

“You are?”

It’s hard to tell if that’s excitement or urgency in his voice. Probably both.

“Yeah, the first one I just waved off as a fluke. But they’ve happened a couple of times now.”

“Alright, I’m on my way home, princess,” Eddie says, and you can already hear him moving around, starting the process. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you assure him. “They’re quick and not too close together yet. I’ll start counting when I feel the next one.”

“Good.” The sound of his keys jingling comes through the phone. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. I love you.” 

A hint of giddiness is already creeping into his tone. He’s wanted a baby girl for so long, and she’s finally ready to make her appearance. You make a mental note to think of Eddie’s excitement anytime a contraction overwhelms you. Of course, you have your own excitement, and lots of it, but seeing Eddie be so truly happy is one thing that could get you through all the pain in the world. 

Eddie unsheathes his sword as the azure dragon flies overhead. Too far for him to even reach if he threw his sword. The blood red skies cast a purple shadow on the giant winged creature. But Eddie’s almost there. He can see the tower in the distance, normally not a rough journey, but there’s bound to be something guarding the locked-away maiden.

As he gets closer, Eddie sees that it’s a female Cloud Giant tasked with keeping people like him away. Only the most noble who dare to help the poor young thing locked away. 

Eddie picks up speed, his sword at the ready as he approaches the giant, then—bam! Something lands against Eddie’s cheek. He looks up, seeing if the dragon perhaps swooped down to swipe the knight with his tail. But the skies are clear. So, Eddie continues forward. Bam! What the hell is—

Eddie is jolted back into consciousness by his own pillow smacking his face. 

“What the…” Eddie grumbles in a scratchy, sleepy voice. “What’s going on?

He rubs his bleary eyes and sees that Brittany is sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to him.

“Britt?”

Eddie stumbles to his feet and clicks on his bedside lamp before walking around the bed to check on his wife. The first thing he notices is that the crotch of her nightgown and the sheets below her are wet. 

Wow, this baby must really be messing with her bladder if—wait. 

“Your water broke?” Eddie's voice suddenly has no trace of sleepiness in it. 

“Yeah.”

Brittany isn’t looking at him. Instead, she looks down at her hands resting on her large bump. 

“Come on, let’s get you changed,” Eddie says, gently slipping his hand beneath one of her arms so he can help her up. 

Brittany groans once she’s on her feet and Eddie hurriedly turns towards their dresser and digs for something she can change into.

“Contractions?” Eddie asks as he grabs a pair of sweatpants.

“Mhmm.”

“It’s okay,” he assures her. 

Eddie quickly helps Brittany into her clothes and grabs her already prepared overnight bag from the closet. He slowly leads his wife into the living room so she can rest on the couch while he grabs Ryan. 

The twenty-two-month-old is sleeping soundly in his crib. Eddie hates to disturb him, but the ball is already in motion. 

“Wha?” Ryan croaks as Eddie scoops him up and holds him against his chest.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he tells his son. “Go back to sleep.”

Ryan thunks his head down on Eddie’s shoulder and immediately begins lightly snoring. 

The soft whistle in his ear makes Eddie smile as he steps into the kitchen to use the nearest phone. He quickly dials a number he knows by heart and waits for someone to pick up at the plant.

“Yeah, hi, is Wayne there? Yeah, Munson,” Eddie says into the receiver. He hikes Ryan up a little higher on his chest while he waits for the phone to get passed.

“Hello?”

Eddie’s never been happier to hear that gruff voice.

“Hey! It’s, uh, me. So, Brittany’s water broke and Ryan needs—”

“I’ll punch out right now and meet ya at the trailer.”

God, Eddie loves his uncle. 

“Okay, see you there.”

Eddie heads back into the living room and helps Brittany up with one hand while the other keeps a good hold on Ryan. Somehow, Eddie manages to get them both in the car, all buckled and ready to go. 

“Whew.” Eddie takes a deep breath in the driver’s seat. He takes one more before he starts the car. “Here we go.”

The moment Eddie walks through the front door, he makes sure you’re sitting down and comfortable. Sitting down? Yes. Comfortable? Not so much. 

But you’re content with your peanut butter and banana sandwich as your husband presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“Nine minutes apart,” you inform him through a mouthful of peanut butter. 

Eddie chuckles at the muffled words.

“Okay. I’m gonna get changed, then call Wayne so he can be here for when the boys get home.”

You nod and take another bite of your sandwich. 

Eddie comes back just as another contraction is starting. You set your plate down on the couch to your right and Eddie takes a seat on the other side of you. One of your hands braces you against the cushion you’re sitting on, and Eddie slips his hand into your free one. 

“Just squeeze my hand, okay? And breathe.”

The pulsating wracks your body as you focus on taking in a large lungful of air. You hold it for a few seconds, counting time by the number of gentle squeezes you give Eddie’s hand, then let it out. 

“Ugh,” you groan when the pain releases you. You flop back on the couch, tipping your chin up as you try and catch your breath. “That was the longest one so far.”

“We’ll start timing that too,” Eddie says. 

He presses a kiss to your cheek before pressing a few to the back of your hands. His hands stall when you let out a deep sigh.

“Do you not want me to be touching you? What do you need?” There’s a shake in his voice that angers you, because you know exactly why and who made him unsure of how to comfort a woman in labor.

“Yes, I want you to touch me,” you say, grabbing his hand in both of yours. “Your touch calms me.”

It doesn’t escape your notice that his shoulders sag in relief before he wraps an arm around your shoulders. 

“Just let me know what you want me to do,” he says.

“This,” you reply, leaning into his arms. Your eyes slip closed as you snuggle up to the warmth of his body. “Want you.”

“I’m not leaving your side, princess,” he assures you. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

You nod against his neck and Eddie swipes up the remote. He flips through the channels, but it’s the middle of a Tuesday, so there’s not a whole lot on.

“I can grab a tape or a DVD?” your husband offers.

You shake your head, holding onto him even tighter.

“Don’t want you to move. Whatever you find is fine.”

“Alright, well…I guess we’ll watch The Scarlet Pimpernel.”

Eddie feels your chuckle rumble against his chest.

“That’s fine,” you say.

It’s only seconds before another contraction starts, and Eddie can tell by the way your fingertips dig into him. This one lasts about as long as the previous one, and you’re able to get semi-comfortable against your husband again.

The house is quiet, the two of you on the couch, watching a movie that neither of you have any real interest in. The low volume only makes the loud pop that echoes through the room even more pronounced. 

“My water just…”

“Yes, it did.”

A heavy pause hangs in the air as the two of you stare at one another. It’s obvious you have to get up and get going now, but the realization that this is really happening is sinking in for you both. 

“Holy shit,” you breathe out in a whisper.

This breaks Eddie out of his trance. He starts to laugh and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Here we go, sweetheart.”

He helps you up off the couch and into your room so you can change clothes. With your husband's help, you slip into a dry pair of sweatpants, an oversized Ghostbusters t-shirt Luke got you when you complained that there were no comfy maternity shirts, and one of Eddie’s hoodies on top of it—even though you can’t zip it up. Your old college backpack has been filled with supplies for weeks, all in preparation for this moment. Eddie slides onto one of his shoulders and walks with you to the front door.

Just as the two of you step into the living room, the door opens. Wayne steps inside and it takes four seconds for his eyes to go from you to Eddie, to the bag hanging on his shoulder, then back to you.

“Thank God you’re here,” you sigh in relief. 

If for some reason he hadn’t arrived here before the boys got home, you knew they’d be okay for a while, but you’ll be able to relax more knowing that their grandpa is here with them. 

“Heading out to the hospital?” Wayne asks.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers with a nod. “Her water broke.”

A smile graces the older man’s features, and it softens him.

“You got this, darlin’,” he says as he opens the front door wide enough for you and Eddie to get through.

You shoot him a grateful smile as you step outside.

“We’ll call when we have any update,” Eddie tells his uncle.

Wayne just nods and pats Eddie on the back as he passes. The two of you walk to your car together and Wayne watches from the entryway, not wanting to go inside yet in case he can help in any way. 

Once you’re securely in the car, Eddie waves to Wayne before slipping into the driver’s seat. As he adjusts the rearview mirror, his eyes catch on the car seat that’s been installed for the past two weeks. It brings a smile to his face as he starts the engine.

“Let’s have us a baby,” Eddie says as he shifts the car into reverse. 

As soon as you arrive at the hospital, it’s very quick work when Eddie alerts them you’re in labor. You’re brought right to a room and hooked up to lines and so many wires you’re not even sure what they’re all for. 

Your doctor shows up not too long after you’re settled into your bed and says you’re not quite ready to push yet. Your contractions are getting closer together, but they’re not quite at the active labor phase yet. 

Now after being hurried up to this room and all set up to go, there’s nothing to do. The flurry of activity kept your mind off the pain that was creeping up in intensity each time it snuck up on you. But now that there’s nothing to occupy your mind, it feels like it’s all that fills your head.

“Do you want some pain meds, baby?” Eddie asks, slipping his hand into yours.

He must’ve noticed the way you were gritting your teeth hard enough to wear them down to nubs. 

“I can have some?” you ask.

“Sure, sweetheart. Let me go get the nurse.”

Eddie is right and the nurse is able to administer some medicine that allows you to relax a little. It takes enough of the edge off that you’re able to focus on and appreciate Eddie’s attempts to distract you from the pain and boredom. 

Your husband had prepared ahead of time and had slipped his battered and well-loved copy of The Two Towers into your overnight bag. He now brings the story to life for you, reading with such passion, and doing different funny voices for the different characters.

“‘Beren now, he never thought he was going to get that Silmaril from the Iron Crown in Thangorodrim, and yet he did, and that was a worse place and a blacker danger than ours,’” Eddie reads to you. “‘But that’s a long tale, of course, and goes on past the happiness and into grief and beyond it – and the Silmaril went on and came to Eärendil. And why, sir, I never thought of that before! We’ve got – you’ve got some of the light of it in that star-glass that the Lady gave you! Why, to think of it, we’re in the same tale still! It’s going on. Don’t the great tales never end?’ ‘No, they never end as tales,’ said Frodo. ‘But the people in them come, and go when their part’s ended. Our part will end later – or sooner.’” 

Then it’s time for the doctor to check how dilated you are and the timing of your contractions. It’s still not time, she tells you with a sympathetic smile before heading out to attend to other patients. 

Now, Eddie finds a pile of old magazines and newspapers strewn about a small table in the corner. He picks up an outdated print of the Washington Post at random, sits in the chair he’s positioned near your head, and begins to read a news article in an over-the-top news anchor voice.

“The first musical number epitomized the kind of commercialized outrageousness that MTV has perfected in recent years. It featured Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera, decked out in white wedding ensembles in a homage to Madonna, who famously wore a wedding dress on MTV's first Video Music Awards broadcast in 1984, when she performed ‘Like a Virgin.’ Madonna appeared dressed as a groom, and the number, which also briefly featured Missy Elliott, provided the evening's first gyrating rumps, as well as a truly yechy moment: The sight of oversexed old Madonna tongue-kissing oversexed young Spears. It didn't seem outrageous or sultry; it smacked of desperation.”

“Such outrage,” you joke with a shake of your head. 

“Kids today,” Eddie says with an over dramatic sigh. “All their music is just noise.”

You giggle and reach for his hand. He gladly takes it and laces his fingers with yours.

“How are you feeling, princess?”

“I’m good,” you tell him, giving his hand a squeeze. “My wonderful, loving husband is doing a great job of keeping me entertained.”

A smile that can only be described as adoring grows on Eddie’s face. He leans forward and presses kisses to your knuckles.

“Anything for you.”

By the time the hospital staff gets Brittany up to her room and hooked up to all the equipment, the doctor says it’s not long before she can start pushing. Which also means that there’s no time to give her any drugs—no matter how much she begs. 

“Ugh! This sucks,” Brittany complains once it’s just her and Eddie in the room. 

“I know,” Eddie says. 

“Do you?” she snaps back.

“I mean, I…” Eddie stutters over his words. “I was there when Ryan was born. I know the pain you were in then.”

“At least they were able to give me something for pain then. Now I can’t even get a fucking Tylenol.” 

“Do you want to talk about something to keep your mind off it?” Eddie offers. He scoots his chair up to the edge of the bed and rests a hand on Brittany’s blanket-covered thigh. 

“Fine,” the blonde grunts out. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Um…what about middle names? We haven’t decided yet.”

“Didn’t we?” Brittany sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“No,” Eddie replies. “Just first names. Luke for boy, Lucy for girl.” 

“Fine. So, Ryan’s middle name is after your uncle because you just had to do that,” Brittany rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders. “What about from my family?”

“What names do you like?” Eddie says between clenched teeth. She's having my baby, she’s having my baby, she’s having my baby, he reminds himself over and over again. 

“Anatoly,” Brittany says. “For a boy.”

“Luke Anatoly Munson.” Eddie wrinkles his nose at how the name sounds out loud. “I don’t think that goes.”

“Fine.” Brittany’s silent for a moment as she considers other names. “Andrei?”

Eddie internally sighs. He’s always thought it was cool that much of Brittany’s family emigrated from Russia, but the land’s native names don’t flow well with “Luke Munson.” 

“Aleksandr,” Brittany suggests, pulling Eddie out of his own head. 

“Huh.”

Eddie leans back in his chair, letting the name roll around his brain. It's a good one, he thinks. But…

“Should we use the American spelling?” Eddie asks.

“Why, so he can be named after your dad?” Brittany bites out.

The room is silent as Eddie furrows his brow. He shakes his head in confusion as a nurse steps in to check on the monitors Brittany is hooked up to. 

“That’s not…Britt, that isn’t my dad’s name.”

“What?” Brittany stares at her husband as if he has three heads. “Of course it is.”

“People called him ‘Al’, yeah,” Eddie starts. “But his full name is Alan. Not Alexander.” 

“Oh.” Brittany waves a hand dismissively as if not knowing her husband’s dad’s name after years together is nothing—a common mistake, even. 

Eddie shakes his head, shoving the irritation to the back of his mind for the time being. There will be plenty of time later to be annoyed by Brittany’s ignorance and apathy. After the baby is born.

The tension grows in his neck, so Eddie rolls his shoulders and leans back in his chair.

“So, Luke Alexander Munson for a boy?” Eddie checks.

“Sure,” Brittany says as another contraction washes over her. The way her eyes squeeze shut so tightly and her teeth clench with a vengeance pangs Eddie’s heart. 

“And for a girl,” Brittany grits out, obviously trying to talk through the pain in an attempt to ignore it, “Lucy Alexandra Munson.”

“That’s pretty.”

Eddie goes to take his wife’s hand as her body relaxes from the fading contraction. But Brittany snatches her hand back.

“Please, just don’t…touch me.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

Eddie barely has time to feel the sting of rejection before the doctor is back in the room to check on Brittany’s progress. 

“Good news,” the doctor announces. “You’re dilated enough. It’s time to start pushing.” 

“Oh boy,” Brittany mutters, trying to garner strength from her exhausted body. 

The room is a flurry of activity as nurses prepare everything the doctor might need. 

Eddie stands and goes to reach for his wife’s hand before remembering she doesn’t want to be touched. But as another contraction wracks her body, Brittany reaches up and grabs his hand. It brings a small smile to Eddie’s lips, despite how hard she’s gripping it because of her pain. 

“Alright, Brittany,” the doctor says as he gets into position at the end of the bed, “we’re going to try pushing now.”

“We?” Brittany barks out in a strained and breathless laugh. 

“Well, mostly you,” the doctor teases as a nurse goes to stand on Brittany’s other side, opposite of Eddie. 

“Alright, honey,” the nurse says, putting one hand on Brittany’s shoulder. “Push when the doctor counts to three.”

“One, two…”

He doesn’t even get to three before Brittany starts squeezing the life out of Eddie’s hand. Eddie just clenches his teeth and takes it though, willing to soak up any pain that he can from his wife. 

“Jesus, fuck!” Brittany shouts through her pushing. Her face is already sweaty, matting hair to her forehead. Eddie’s quick to brush it away with his free hand.

“You’re doing so good, Britt,” Eddie encourages. “You’ve got this.”

Brittany nods, either in acknowledgment of his words or just because she wants him to shut up. 

“Almost there, Mrs. Munson,” the doctor says.

Eddie’s eyes widen in surprise. When Ryan was born, they were at it for a while before he decided to make his grand entrance into the world. People had told him that second babies tend to come out quicker, but Eddie didn’t know this one was practically banging down the door to get out. 

“This one’s got some mettle,” Eddie says. 

“Just like Dad,” Brittany grits out and it takes Eddie a second to get her joke. 

Mettle, metal? He got it. 

Eddie huffs a laugh, honestly impressed by her ability to come up with a joke while she’s trying to pass a human being through her body. 

“Okay, now just one more biiig push,” the doctor says. 

“Come on, hun,” Eddie cheers, bracing his hand against Brittany’s as she channels everything in her to push. 

“Almost there, almost there…” the doctor repeats. 

Suddenly the shrill sound of an infant wailing fills the small room. It’s the most beautiful sound Eddie has ever heard. 

“It’s a boy,” the doctor announces, holding the newborn up enough for the parents to see. 

Brittany drops Eddie’s hand out of pure exhaustion, but there’s a smile on her face as she drops back against the pillows. The baby is handed to a nurse for initial cleanup. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Eddie says softly to Brittany. 

She tilts her head up and gives him a sleepy smile. 

The softness in her gaze has Eddie leaning down to press a kiss to her lips. Surprisingly, she kisses him back. 

“Would you like to cut the cord, Dad?” the doctor asks.

“Yes,” Eddie responds before the doctor can even finish the question.

He walks down to the foot of the bed and takes the pair of scissors to the umbilical cord, snipping it in two. Eddie hands the scissors back blindly, as his eyes never leave his newborn son. No detail escapes his notice as he watches a nurse gently take him and lay him on Brittany’s chest. 

“Oh, hi,” Brittany says, one hand covering the entirety of his little back. 

Eddie comes back up to the head of the bed and beams down at his wife and baby. Brittany glances up at him, then back down. 

“Look at this beautiful boy,” Eddie coos. 

Brittany chuckles and Eddie leans down to kiss her head, then the newborn’s.

“Beautiful little Luke,” Brittany says. 

A nurse takes him back to fully clean him up and swaddle him in a soft white blanket. 

“You want to hold him?” the nurse asks Eddie.

“Yes.” Eddie nods emphatically and holds out his arms. 

The moment the gentle weight lands in his arms, Eddie’s eyes fill with tears. 

“Hi, my boy.”

“To place a call outside of the hospital, please press nine.”

Eddie does as the automated voice tells him and leans back in his chair. You let your head loll to the side, the scratchy pillow brushing against your cheek as you watch your husband. This brief respite from contractions allows you to smile when you hear the echo of Ryan’s voice come from the phone.

“Hey, you,” Eddie says, grinning as well. “How was school?”

“Good! Isthebabyhereyet?” 

His eagerness makes Eddie chuckle. 

“No, no baby yet. Just figured I’d check in with you guys.”

“What he say?!” Luke shouts in the background. 

“No baby!” Ryan tells him. 

The phone shuffles back and forth before Luke says, “Just share it!”

“Uh, you both there?” Eddie asks. 

“Yeah!” they say at the same time. 

“Did you ask—”

“Not yet, I—”

Eddie tilts his head to the side as they bicker. He somehow deciphers that they want to talk to you.

“You can talk to her if you hush up and behave.”

Both boys fall silent at that. There’s a small pause before Ryan says, “Okay.”

“Good.” Eddie nods and hands the phone over to you.

“Hello?”

“Hi!” two young voices call at the same time. 

“How do you feel?” Ryan asks.

As if his question summoned it, a contraction rears its ugly head. Your forehead furrows as you try to ignore it and focus on the conversation with the boys.

“I’m doing okay.”

“Do you hurt?” Luke asks. 

Your free hand bangs against the bed rail in an attempt to keep from shouting in pain. Eddie sits up straighter in his chair, concern filling his eyes. He motions to the phone, silently asking if you want him to take it back. 

“Little bit,” you grit out to answer Luke while shaking your head to answer Eddie. 

“Did they give you any medicine?” Ryan asks.

“Yeah, a while ago. So, uh, what did you guys do at school today?”

“Nothing really,” Luke says. “Oh, you and Dad have to come down to the school and get the meat thermometer.”

“The what?” you ask. 

“The meat thermometer.”

“Luke, what are you talking about?”

Eddie looks at you, questioningly, and you shrug your shoulders. 

“Me and my friend Kevin wanted to test the temperature of the cafeteria hot dogs, so I brought the meat thermometer. But then we got caught and the lunch lady took it. So now you need to get it.”

“You did what?” You hear Wayne’s muffled shout. 

“We wanted to make sure it was safe!” Luke defends. 

The contraction finally releases you and you’re able to relax as much as you can in the lumpy hospital bed. 

“What about you, Ry?” you ask.

“I didn’t care how hot the meat was,” he says, completely serious.

You laugh and it helps your body wash away that lingering whisper of pain.

“No,” you say. “What did you do at school today?”

“We have to write papers for history class, and we started today.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the paper on?” you ask, trying to think of anything except the next contraction. 

“Everyone got assigned some kind of job we have to study. I got dentist.”

“And what did you learn today?” As much as Luke’s shenanigans can keep you entertained, they can also stress you out. But Ryan loves to go into detail about what he’s working on at school and this shall hopefully provide you with a relaxing distraction. 

“Uhh…” Ryan hums as he thinks. “The first dental school in America was founded by Horace H. Hayden and Chaplin A. Harris.”

“When?” you press.

“1840. In Maryland, in case you were gonna ask!”

It’s impossible not to smile at how well the boy knows you.

“Good job, Ry,” you tell him. “I’m proud of you.”

The beginnings of a new contraction appear, and your fingers tighten around the phone receiver. You spy your doctor out in the hallway and use it as an excuse.

“Alright, boys,” you start, “my doctor is coming so I gotta go, okay? Daddy will call when there’s an update.”

“Okay,” Ryan says.

“Love you!” Luke adds.

“I love you both, too. 

Eddie hangs up the phone for you just as your doctor actually does walk into your room. 

“How are we feeling Mrs. Munson?” she asks you. 

You’ve been “Mrs. Munson” for eight months now but it still gives you butterflies every time you hear it.

“Contraction-y,” you tell Dr. Hahn. 

She chuckles and nods her head in understanding. 

“That makes sense, you know, with the contractions and all.” She tugs two medical gloves out of the box marked “medium”. “Alright, I’m just gonna check how your dilation is going.”

As you lay back to let the doctor do her thing, Eddie leans forward and raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Should I be concerned about whatever it is that Luke did now?” he asks. 

“I think it’s okay,” you say with a chuckle. “Apparently, you just have to go to school to pick up a meat thermometer he brought to check the temperature of the school hot dogs.”

Eddie stares at you, his face almost as blank and emotionless as you’ve ever seen it. You can practically see his brain attempting to digest this information, but it thinks it’s reading the data incorrectly. 

“He what?” Eddie finally asks.

Luckily, Dr. Hahn saves you from admitting you have no idea what goes on in the mind of Luke Munson. 

“Well, Mrs. Munson,” Dr. Hahn says, “the time has arrived. You’re fully dilated now; time to start pushing.”

You’ve known all along that you’d have to do this—hell, you’ve known it for about eight months now—but the reality of actually pushing a person out of your body is sobering. How did this moment finally arrive? Weren’t you and Eddie just sitting on the bathroom floor, waiting for the results of the pregnancy test? And now you’re supposed to start pushing? You feel as if you’ve had no time to prepare. Prepare for this labor, prepare for taking the baby home, prepare to be a fully-fledged mom to a newborn. 

A moment of serenity washes over you as your mind reminds you of one important factor, though: this is your and Eddie’s baby. You are bringing a child into this world that is half you and half the man you love. A baby who is the product of the love that you both easily fell into and fought like hell to make work. Suddenly, labor doesn’t seem so bad. It may hurt, but to you it is a privilege and honor to bring this little girl, and everything she stands for, into the world. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” Eddie asks. 

“Yeah,” you assure him with a small smile. “I’m ready to meet our baby.”

The infectious grin that spreads on Eddie’s face warms your heart and gives you a boost of strength to get this show on the road.

Eddie stands up as Dr. Hahn gets everything situated. He slips his hand into yours and leans down to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

“I’m right here with you, princess,” he says softly. “You’re the strongest woman—no, person I know.”

His words have your eyes filling with tears and the hormones certainly aren’t helping. 

“I love you so much, Eddie.”

“I love you, too.”

“Oh, here comes another contraction,” Dr. Hahn says, looking at the monitors that you’re hooked up to. “We’re gonna try pushing on this one, Mrs. Munson, okay?”

“Okay.”

The wobble in your voice is clear. Eddie presses a kiss to the back of your hand. Just as his lips brush your skin, you feel the now-familiar pressure that precedes a contraction. 

“Oof,” you groan as the intensity increases.

“Alright, now…push,” Dr. Hahn instructs. 

You take the deepest breath that your pain will allow, grit your teeth, and clutch your husband’s hand as you begin to push.

“Great job, Mrs. Munson,” Dr. Hahn praises. “Keep it going.”

And it does keep going. And going. And going. 

But fifty-three minutes later, you hear the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard in your life. 

Shrill, high-pitched wails fill the room, and you immediately begin sobbing. 

“Here she is,” Dr. Hahn says, holding her at an angle you can see. “Congratulations, Mom and Dad.”

Even covered in vernix and blood, your new daughter is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. A nurse places her on your chest, and the moment you feel that skin-to-skin contact with her, you’re done for. She already has you wrapped around her little finger.

The newborn continues her cries, escalating to a new pitch every time she gets another lungful of air. It’s as if she’s a royal, informing all her subjects of her many woes. 

Eddie leans in and kisses your lips, the tears on your face mingling with the ones on his. When your husband pulls back to stare at his baby girl, his face is filled with awe and adoration. 

“She’s here,” he whispers to no one in particular. 

“Do you want to cut the cord, Mr. Munson?” Dr. Hahn asks.

Eddie reaches for the scissors a nurse is holding out to him and he has them in his hand before you could say “Ryan and Luke’s new baby sister.”

This is Eddie’s third time doing this, so he knows right where to line the scissors up even before Dr. Hahn instructs him. Eddie severs the cord and a nurse takes the baby so she can have a proper cleaning. 

Neither your nor Eddie’s eyes leave the newborn as she’s swaddled up in a nice warm blanket.

“Do we have a name yet?” The nurse asks as she slides a pink hat onto the tiny baby’s head.

“Eliza,” you say proudly. Tears fill your eyes at the sound of her name out loud. Out loud now that she’s here. This precious little bean that’s been growing inside of you for so long is finally here, a real little person you get to hold and love on. 

“Eliza Marie Munson,” Eddie says, the same emotions that you’re going through reflecting in his voice. 

“Well, Dad,” the nurse says as she picks up Eliza and turns towards Eddie. “Would you like to hold your baby girl Eliza?”

Your husband nods emphatically, reminding you of Luke when he’s asked if he wants to go to the toy store. The nurse gently transfers Eliza to her father’s arms, and you watch as his face morphs as he holds his daughter for the first time.

“H-Hi, Eliza.” Eddie sniffs and clears his throat, trying to shove the tears away. “I can’t believe you’re finally here. I can’t believe that I actually have a daughter.” Slowly, Eddie leans in to press his lips to her soft, smooth forehead. Eliza coos and her face scrunches up adorably. “You wanna know something, Eliza? You have the best mommy in the world. And now I have the two most perfect girls in the world.”

Eddie looks up at you with a gentle smile. Tears are falling down your cheeks so rapidly that it feels like you’re playing whack-a-mole as you try to wipe them all away. 

Your husband stands next to the bed and nods at you, signaling for you to ready your arms for the baby. You gladly accept the warm little bundle, and more tears begin to cascade as you gaze down at her gorgeous little face. 

“Hi, baby girl. I’m your mommy.” Saying the words aloud sounds odd to your ears. Sure, you’ve basically been a mother to Luke and Ryan for years now, but you never introduced yourself to them as “mommy.” But that’s what you are, from Eliza’s first breath, you’re her mom for her entire life. 

“You okay?” Eddie asks. He reaches down and rubs a warm hand against your shoulder.

“I’m wonderful,” you say. “It’s weird, though. Having Eliza from this very first moment of her life, I now wish even more that I could’ve known the boys as soon as they came into the world.”

Eddie lets out a soft chuckle and places a kiss to the top of your head.

“Trust me, princess. This has been the least dramatic and stressful of all the kids’ births.”

You chuckle as well, and the sound seems to tickle Eliza. Her tiny head moves from side to side slowly, as if she’s shaking her head no in slow motion.

“I can’t wait for them to meet her,” you say.

“Guess I need to make a phone call home.”

The door to the hospital room clearly needs some oil as it squeaks open. Wayne steps inside, a curious Ryan in his arms. The almost-two-year-old gazes around the room with wide eyes, taking in all the unfamiliar equipment.

“Hey, you!” Eddie says as he takes the little boy from his uncle. “Did you have a good day with Grandpa?”

“Yep,” Ryan says, still taking in his new surroundings. “Play catch.”

“You played catch?” Eddie asks, his pitch rising in that faux excitement adults use when talking to young children.

“Uh huh!”

“That sounds like fun. Guess what?”

“What?”

“You’re a big brother now,” Eddie tells him. 

“Baby?” Ryan asks.

“Yes! Mommy had the baby. Do you want to meet him?”

Ryan nods enthusiastically, trying to look around his dad’s head to catch a glimpse of his mother. She comes into view as Eddie turns and walks towards the hospital bed, where Brittany is cradling a sleeping Luke. 

Eddie gently sets his older son down on the bed next to his mom.

“Hi, Ryan,” Brittany says softly. “Come here, look at the baby.”

Cautiously, Ryan shuffles forward and peers at the blanket-wrapped bundle.

“This is your little brother, Ry,” Eddie says. “You guys are going to be best friends.” 

“Do you want to hold him, Wayne?” Brittany asks, fighting back a yawn.

“‘Course.” 

Brittany carefully hands him over, and Wayne looks down at his new grandson in absolute wonder.

“Well, aren’t you the sweetest baby?” Wayne says to Luke.

As the older man cradles the baby, Ryan stands up and taps his dad’s arm. Eddie hums in question and raises his eyebrows at the toddler.

“Up, up,” Ryan says, holding his arms up.

It melts Eddie’s heart that Ryan wants to be held up next to his new brother. The room is quiet, save for the echoes of hospital sounds drifting in. 

Luke starts to squirm, unable to move much in his swaddled state. 

“Britt?” Eddie looks over his shoulder at his wife. “Do you have the pacifier?”

“Oh, yeah.” The blue pacifier that Luke has already shown an affinity for is on the bedside table, and Brittany hands it to her husband, who pops it into the baby’s mouth. Immediately, Luke calms back down, sucking furiously as he slips back into sleep.

Ryan leans over as far as he can in his dad’s arms, peering down at his brother in awe.

“My baby,” Ryan declares.

The adults in the room chuckle. 

“Can you say hi to Luke, Ryan?” Eddie asks, rubbing his hand up and down the elder boy’s back.

Ryan grins, his adorable baby teeth on display. He’s mesmerized by the new family member, and it fills Eddie with a warmth he’s never felt before. Ryan tries to lean over even more, wanting to be as close as possible.

“Hi, Luke!”

The comfortable quiet in the hospital room cocoons you, your husband, and your daughter as you all lounge in the bed. Your head rests on Eddie’s shoulder while Eliza sleeps soundly in his arms. Both of you are just staring at her, already completely wrapped around her little finger.

“She’s so beautiful,” you whisper. 

“Just like her mom,” Eddie replies, just as quiet. 

“Her mom needs a shower,” you say. “Badly. I feel all gross after getting all sweaty.”

“You still looked gorgeous, even giving birth.” Eddie turns his head and presses a kiss to your hair. 

The slight movement causes Eliza to fuss, wiggling like a little worm in her father’s grip. Her whines hurt your heart.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Eddie coos. He lays his head against yours.

Eddie begins to hum, and you quickly recognize the song as Sweet Child O’ Mine. All it takes is a minute of her dad’s soothing tone to lull the baby girl right back to sleep.

[athenamikaelson]

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader!Soulmate x Elijah Mikaelson PART 7

Word Count- 5.3k

Warnings- Swearing, stabbing, Elijah wanting to hold hands, witch trials

A/N- KLAUS NEXT CHAPTER BABIES!!!

“I don’t understand why you grown men keep dragging me into your shit,” I groan to Alaric as he parks his car. I cling to my seatbelt and regret ever answering my phone this morning. I really just have to throw my phone away at this point. 

“I don’t trust him around Jenna, Y/n. I have a bad feeling about the guy,” Ric says as he undoes his seatbelt and begins to exit the car. 

“That or are you just jealous?”

I raise an eyebrow and purse my lips at him and he leans down to stare at me with an annoyed look.

“Get out of the car Y/N.”

I watch as Ric makes his way from his side of the car to mine, but just as he’s about to open my door I press down the lock from the inside. I smirk at him as he tries to open the door but it doesn’t budge. He stares down at me annoyed and then presses his key fob unlocking the car. He tries to open the door but I mimic my actions from before and lock the car again. We continue doing this for another 2 minutes before Ric gets the better of me and throws open my door. 

“Seriously, Y/n!”

I huff and practically crawl out of the car. 

“For the record, I would rather jump in front of a train than be here,” I say matter-of-factly to Ric as we catch sight of Jenna and Elijah walking up a grass path together.

“For the record,” Ric waves at them and then turns his head towards me, “I don’t care.”

Once again I groan as we make our way towards Jenna and Elijah. I lock eyes with the latter and he sends me a warm smile. I don’t reciprocate and quickly turn my eyes towards Jenna. I can still feel Elijah’s eyes on me, as always, as we stand in front of Jenna and him.  

“Uh, Elijah, this is my friend,” Jenna, who seems to be annoyed, introduces Alaric to Elijah, “Alaric Saltzman. And you’ve already met Y/N,” Jenna turns to me and seems much more happy to see me.

Ric who can’t seem to catch a clue speaks, “Ya, I got your, uh, message about walking Elijah here through the old property lines. I thought I, uh we,” He gestures to me, “would, uh, tag along. You know us being history buffs and all. Where to next?”

An awkward silence follows for a moment before Elijah breaks it, “I’m pretty curious about the freed slave property owners. Some say, you know, the descendants of the slaves are the true keepers of American history.”

I am almost one hundred percent sure Mr. Suit and Tie has an ulterior motive but Jenna doesn’t seem to catch it as she tells him she has the stuff in her car and that she’ll go grab it. I watch as she walks away and then turn back to the two men next to me. Elijah stands about a foot's width away from me while Ric is to my right. Ric must’ve noticed Elijah’s staring as he moved himself in front of me. If you didn’t want me to be around Elijah why bring me here? Dumbass. 

I can still see Elijah from over Ric’s shoulder and the movement Ric made doesn’t seem to sit well with Elijah as a small twitch in his upper lip presents into a snarl. He drops back into a neutral look almost instantly. 

“So you’re one of those people on Elena’s list of loved ones to protect,” Elijah says to Ric. Even though Elijah is relatively shorter than Ric the aura Elijah protrudes makes up for it. Anyone could tell that even though Ric is trying to put up a macho front, he’s afraid of Elijah. 

“So is Jenna.”

Elijah smirks at Alaric and then shakes his head slightly, “You don’t have to be jealous. I don’t really pursue younger women,” Elijah’s eyes trail to mine momentarily, “Most of the time.”

Elijah turns back to Ric and they stare at each other for a moment before Elijah pats Ric on the shoulder, “It’s a joke, Ric, lighten up.” 

Ric rolls his eyes and nods. 

“Wait,” I speak and turn to Elijah, “Technically isn’t every woman younger than you? You know, since you’re like old. Really old. ”

Ric just brings a hand up to massage the tension between his eyebrows and sighs deeply, but Elijah lets out a small chuckle that sends shocks down my spine. 

“I guess you’re right Y/N. I am really old,” He mimics my tone with a small smile on his face. 

—

35 minutes. We’ve been walking in this dirty ass forest for 35 minutes. I should be in bed asleep right now. But nope, here I am following behind three adults as they talk about history. It’s not that I don’t like history, I do, it’s just that it’s a Saturday. I shouldn’t be learning things on a weekend. 

I half-heartedly listen to what Jenna is telling Elijah as we cross over a bunch of fallen tree logs. Alaric helps Jenna over one, and I don’t miss the dirty look she looks she shoots him, making me try to cover my giggle with my hand. The giggling instantly stops though when I see Elijah standing by the front of the log with his hand outstretched towards me. We haven’t talked in these 35 minutes since Jenna has been occupying him, but that hasn’t stopped him from turning back every few moments to catch a glimpse of me, as if he thinks I’m just going to disappear into thin air. Honestly, I wish I would.

I’m not going to use Elijah’s help but realize that my clumsy ass would probably fall over the log if I didn’t. So I lightly place my hand into his, which results in him closing his hand over mine. Locking our hands together. Our hands are locked for a long moment before Ric clears his throat from the other side of the log. I quickly look away from Elijah and use his hand to get over the log carefully. I soon as I get over it though I wrench my hand away from his and walk over to Jenna who sends me a warm smile. 

“Seems like someone is fond of you,” She whispers to me as she raises his eyebrows suggestively.

I can already feel the redness making its way onto my cheeks as I stare at her horrified. Jenna just laughs at my face as she starts leading us farther down the trail we’re on. Sadly though, Alaric has occupied Jenna, which leaves Elijah to walk next to me. 

Elijah’s quiet for a moment, seemingly just enjoying my company before he starts speaking, “Is it true what Alaric says,” I turn to him confused, “That you’re a history buff?”

I sigh slightly as I shrug my shoulders realizing that just talking to the guy might make this little trip go by a little faster.

“I wouldn't call myself a buff,” I use my fingers to make air quotes, “but it’s also not something I dislike. Learning about how our world was made and all the small factors of why it was made are quite intriguing. I also like weird history.”

“Weird history,” Elijah questions me with a frown.

“You know, like the unexplained, or the odd things in history that many don’t understand,” At the still confused look on his face I continue, “You know like the dancing plague of 1518, D.B Cooper, or Oh! The lost colony of Roanoke. That’s probably my most favorite.”

Once I realized that I had just gone on a tangent I went to apologize to Elijah but when I look at him all I can see on his face is pure adoration. The type of adoration that makes the beating in my chest stops. He smiles at me and from being so close to him I notice the small dimple on his left cheek. 

“I understand now,” Elijah says, “You seem to be most interested in The Roanoke Colony. Why is that?”

I ponder his question for a moment, “I’m not sure, it’s just something I’ve always been drawn to. Maybe because of how mysterious and odd it is. I’m not sure, I know that some people say it was aliens or cannibalism but there isn’t a known answer. It’s amazing to me that so many people, an entire village, can go missing and there are no clues. Other than the word Croatoan!”

Elijah nods his head along but the look in his eyes and the smirk on his face tells me he’s hiding something. Wait. Holy shit.

I whip around to him stopping us, “You know, don’t you! I mean you’re old enough but I didn’t even think you would…,” I stop and stare at him in awe for a moment, “You have to tell me.”

Elijah opens his mouth but then I shake my head and throw a hand up to his mouth stopping him, “Wait! No, what if you tell me and it ends up disappointing me.”

I go through all the possibilities in my head at what he could tell me and then fight myself on whether I should have him tell me or not. I can feel Elijah’s smile behind my hand and bring my hand back.

“Sorry,” I wince embarrassed. 

“No worries, I enjoy seeing you so full of life,” I blush at his words, “Would you like me to tell you?”

I think about Elijah’s question for a moment and then shake my head, “No. I think the reason I love that moment in history so much is because of the mystery behind it. I don’t want to lose interest in it by knowing.”

Elijah seems pleased with my answer and nods, “Very well.”

We continue walking for another moment before Elijah chimes up again, “What else interests you?”

I shrug my shoulders, “Nothing much, I’m not a very interesting person.”

“I highly doubt that.”

I smile slightly at his comment, “Well I like reading. That’s actually something Elena and I have bonded on. I used to get bullied for being a book nerd but now having someone who likes it too is comforting.”

At this mention of Elena, Elijah’s smile drops slightly but then turns into a small frown. 

“I’m sorry that you were bullied for reading, as a literature connoisseur myself I find it quite depressing how reading has become something so rare in these past decades. What types of books do you read?”

I nod along to Elijah’s words until he asks what books I read. At this, I instantly get red and look anywhere other than him.

“You know,” I try to find a socially acceptable answer. Not really wanting to tell this 1,000-year-old man I spend my free time reading smut, “Literature.”

“Literature?”

Elijah looks at me with a smirk on his handsome features and I just nod and clear my throat, “Yep, literature. Just all the literature.”

“What about you? What literature do you like?”

Elijah laughs slightly at my change in subject, “Literature in general as well,” I roll my eyes at his joke, “But also I appreciate all types, Historical, the classics, thriller, even romance.”

“You read romance,” I ask surprised. 

He nods his head, “On occasion. There’s something so unique about how different authors portray love and devotion. Where some show it as a neverending, intense emotion others show it as one’s demise.” 

“And which do you believe?”

This question has Elijah pausing momentarily, thinking, “I’ve lived a long time, Elskan. Seen people start wars in the name of love, and seen people kill and die in its name aswell. To choose just one thought when it comes to the idea of love is something I can not do. What about you, what are your thoughts on love?”

“I want nothing to do with it.”

Elijah goes quiet for a moment at my answer. I face back forward and we keep walking in silence for another moment.

“I understand your reluctance towards it. But still young why cut off something like love at your age?”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at his words. My age has nothing to do with my hatred and distaste for love. 

“Don’t tell me all that romance you read is getting to your head, Elijah,” I say to him slightly snarky.

“I’ve struck a nerve,” Elijah says as he nods his head. 

“Nope. No nerves struck here,” I tell him picking up my speed and walking away from him. He doesn’t have to try hard to meet my speed though as he falls back into step with me. 

“Even though there have been no nerves struck,” He tries to lighten the tension with a joke, “I must apologize for overstepping. As I’ve said before, making you uncomfortable is the last thing I’d ever want to do.”

I move my gaze from Jenna’s back, who is currently in a small argument with Alaric, and turn to look at Elijah. Once again his face has no signs of malice or ill intent.

“It’s fine,” I shrug at him, “Like I said no struck nerves.”

Elijah slightly laughs and then nods his head. We walk for another 5 minutes in silence, Elijah helps me over logs and rocks whenever we come up to one. 

“Y/N and I should be heading back now,” Alaric tells the group as we get to a clearing. 

I nod, happy to be getting out of these woods.

“Well, thank you Y/N for coming today, I’m sure you had more exciting things to do today,” Jenna smiles at me and jokes.

“Just sleeping. But it was nice to see you Jenna,” I reluctantly look over to Elijah who hasn’t left my side, “You as well.”

This has Elijah’s deflated shoulders rising again. He almost reminds me of a dog that is happy someone is finally giving it an ounce of attention. 

“It was a pleasure to be able to spend this morning with you, Y/N,” I’ve noticed that Elijah calls me by my actual name when other people are around. But, when it is just him and I, he uses that stupid nickname. 

I nod as I go to follow Alaric back to the car but stop and turn back to Elijah, “I guess I’m not one-hundred percent against love,” This perks Elijah up, “I mean I totally loved the dress I wore to the tea party.”

Elijah lets out a deep chuckle that rattles his broad shoulders, “You weren’t the only one.”

I almost choke on my saliva at his words. Elijah’s smirk deepens and I put my lips together and nod my head fast.

“Well, um. I’ll be going now,” I don’t give Elijah time to respond as I speed walk past him and Jenna and grab Ric’s forearm pulling him roughly behind me.

“Keep up,” I whisper yell at him as we speed walk our way to the car. 

—

The original plan was that Ric and I would go on that stupid history walk and then after 30 minutes he would bring me back to my house, but of course, no one in this god-forsaken town follows any type of deal. So that’s why I am currently sitting in front of Demon and his “girlfriend,” and next to Ric who are talking about Elijah and how they don’t trust him. Thankfully Damon bought me fries so this whole trip hasn’t been an entire waste. I half-ass listen to their conversation but don’t really care so I don’t process a word they’re saying, at least not until Damon perks up.

I’ve come to learn from my time in knowing Demon that if I see him getting excited about something, someone is going to get hurt. 

So that’s why I follow his line of sight and see Elijah and Jenna walk into the Grill together.

“Ah, there Jenna with her new boyfriend,” Damon says. I know he’s just trying to get a reaction out of Ric but something about that sentence makes my skin crawl. 

Damon calls over both of them. Jenna welcomes all of us with a smile and wave while Elijah trails behind her looking complacent. As always his eyes find mine and his complacent smile lightens. 

“So I hear you two had a meeting of the historical minds today,” Damon speaks to the two.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Jenna smiles looking up at Elijah who is now looking down at Demon. 

“Well, as much as I’d love to continue this, I, uh, I’ve got papers to grade and a teenager to get home,” Ric gets up from his seat and he gestures to me. I frown as I see my fries still half full and quickly grab a fist full and fill my mouth trying to get away with as many as possible, almost choking myself in the meantime. The adults around me watch me with a mix of amusement and slight disgust, but I don't care. I’m not wasting free food. 

“No, you know what,” Alex or Stephanie or whatever Demon’s girlfriend is named, chirps up, “We should continue this. Let’s have a dinner party!”

Hell to the no. 

“Ooh, my girl. Full of good ideas,” Damon looks over to her before turning back to us, “I’ll be happy to host. Say tonight. Maybe?”

“It’s good for me. Jenna,” Where Alessia agrees Ric tries to disagree. 

“Yeah, I’m free,” Jenna talks over Ric. Yikes. 

“Will the lovely Y/N be there,” Elijah asks me and I try to tell him, “Hell no,” but the fries in my mouth have left me mute.

“Of course, she’ll be there,” Damon exclaims as if there isn’t any other place I’d rather be. I send him a nasty glare which earns me a wink in return. 

“Then it’d be a pleasure.”

Damon’s smile is all but welcoming as he responds to Elijah, “Great.”

This is going to be a horrible night. 

—

This is a horrible night. 

First I get a nasty grade on my modern art project. Not my fault, since modern art is a crime against humanity. 

Then, I try to find a dress for this stupid dinner and the only half-decent dress that I have now is two inches too short.

And then after I said screw it, put the dress on and finished getting ready. I went down to my car only to find out that my front tire had gone flat. Honestly in this case I was happy about it because I had a reason to cancel, but when I called Jenna and told her the “upsetting” news, she told me she’d come pick me up. Great. 

So now I’ve been sitting on my front porch waiting for Jenna. After waiting for fifteen minutes I was close to just calling it quits and telling Jenna the fries from earlier made me throw up on myself. But, right when I stand up a dark sedan pulls into my driveway. Wait. I know that sedan. Damnit. Why the hell is Elijah here?

As if he could read my thoughts Elijah pretty much glides out of his car looking practically god-like in yet another five-thousand-dollar suit and smiles at me. 

“Good evening, Elskan,” Elijah walks up the walkway to stand before me, “Miss. Sommers so kindly asked me if I could escort you to the dinner tonight. To which I happily obliged.”

“Right,” I sigh, “Let’s just get this night over with.”

I walk to Elijah’s car as he follows me, just like before he opens the door for me. I send him an appreciative nod and get in. After another moment we’re driving down the dark road towards the boarding house. 

“You look breathtaking, Elskan,” Elijah says to me from his position in the driver’s seat. 

“Thanks,” I turn to him and look at his usual attire, “You look the same.”

He chuckles, “Yes, you always seem to remind me of my attire. Thank you for that.”

“Always here to help.”

We drive in comfortable silence for the entirety of the trip until we get to the Salvatore’s driveway.

“How are you feeling about tonight,” Elijah’s tone is flat but as he looks at me his eyes are filled with what I believe to be suspicion.

“You mean, do I think something bad is going to happen?”

Elijah’s upper lip twitches, “Aren’t you a smart one? But yes, I am not going to threaten you Elskan. I would never do that, but,” At that, I’m tensing in my seat, “I need to know if your friends are planning something, unbecoming, tonight.”

At Elijah’s serious tone, I shake my head, “I don’t know anything. Promise,” Elijah doesn’t seem to be entirely pleased with my answer, and something in me wants to fix that, “But, I do know that Damon is not one to have friendly dinner parties so,” I look at him uneased but speak in a strong voice, “Be on your guard tonight.”

“Thank you for your honesty, Elskan.”

— 

Elijah and I stand side by side as he knocks on the front door. We wait only a moment before a smirking Demon opens it up,

“Thank you both for coming,” Damon says a little too nicely, “Y/N don’t you look adorable. Come on in!”

Elijah places his hand on my lower back, “Just one moment. Can I just say that if you have less than honorable intentions about how this evening is going to proceed, I suggest you reconsider.”

“No, nothing, nothing dishonorable. Just, uh, getting to know you.”

“Hmm, well, that’s good.”

“Yeah,” I watch this back and forth waiting for something bad to happen. 

“Because, you know, although Elena and I have this deal if you so much as make a move to cross me I’ll kill you and I’ll kill everyone in this house,” And there it is, “Except Y/N and Miss. Sommers of course. Are we clear?” 

“Crystal,” Damon eyes Elijah wearily. And then Elijah leads me into the house as Jenna enters the room.

“Jenna, wonderful to see you again. How are you?”

“I’m seriously getting whiplash from you man,” I whisper so only Elijah will hear. The only response I get is a slight squeeze to my waist as he pulls me closer and away from everyone else who has entered the room to greet us. His right-hand stays resting on my upper hip. 

“Let’s eat.”

—

“I hate to break it to you, Damon,” Jenna says to Damon as she pours him a glass of wine, “But according to Elijah your family is so not a founder of this town.” 

“Hmm, do tell,” Damon responds. Damon sits at the head of the table sipping his wine as he stares at Elijah, who is currently sitting next to me on my right. Alaric sits to my left and Jenna and Abby sit across from us. I should really learn her name. There’s also this balding white man who is sitting across from Damon at the other end of the table but no one here seems to want him here.

“Well, as I mentioned to Jenna earlier a faction of settlers migrated from Salem after the witch trial in the 1690s. Over the next hundred years, they developed this community where they could feel safe from persecution.”

“Hmm, because they were witches,” Jenna chimes in.

“Yeah, there’s no tangible proof there were witches in Salem.”

“Andies a journalist. Big on facts,” Oh, so that’s her name. I liked Andrea more.

“Well,” Elijah sets down his fork and starts talking again, “the lore says that there was this wave of anti-witch hysteria. It broke out in the neighboring settlement. So these witches were rounded up. They were tied to stakes in a field together and, uh, burned,” Elijah says as if it’s something anyone wants to hear while they’re eating steak dinner, “Some say you could hear the screams from miles around us. They were consumed by the fire. Could you pass the,” He gestures to the salt and Ric passes it to him wearily. 

“I wouldn’t repeat this to the Historical Society,” Jenna says which has me wanting to roll my eyes at the mention of those bags.

“Maybe you should,” I say to myself but have seemed to catch the attention of the table. Shit.

“I’m just saying it would knock them down a peg, which is clearly needed,” I whisper out the last part, “Even though there is no proof of witches being burned at the stake during the trials. It was mostly done from self-drownings and using rocks.”

At my contradiction to Elijah’s statement he raises an eyebrow, “Is that so?”

“Self-drowning and rocks? How would that work,” Jenna questions with a slight stutter clearly having had a little too much wine.

“Well with the drowning it was more of a test,” I use fingerquotes at the word, “So to speak. The witch in question would be tossed into a body of water and if she was able to stay afloat she was condemned as a witch and was killed. But if she didn’t float, well. Y’know. So I mean either way it was just a way to punish women for being women. They used the rocks though to stone the people to death. Interestingly enough one of my ancestors was actually killed that way. R.I.P.”

I laugh at my little joke at the end which has earned me a few stares from the people at the table.

“Ok, moving past whatever that was,” Damon says as he turns back to Elijah, “So why do you want to know the location of these alleged massacres?”

Elijah thinks for a moment before smiling, “You know… a healthy historian’s curiosity, of course.”

“Of course,” Damon replies to Elijah who has already gone back to taking a bite out of his steak. I bring my glass of water to my lips and take a sip but start choking on it when I feel a hand gently grab my other one from under the table. 

“Y/N! Are you ok,” Jenna exclaims from her side of the table as Ric pats me on the back, I put up a thumbs up and try to smile.

“Yep all good. Just,” I cough out a bit more, “went down the wrong pipe. Don’t mind me.”

Even though I almost choked, Elijah still hasn’t moved his hand from mine. Instead, his fingers have begun tracing shapes into my skin. I know I should feel disgusted, but I can’t seem to want to move his hand away. He looks at me momentarily as if to check I’m ok. To which I send him a small nod. This in return makes him smile and grab a hold of my hand more firmly now.

Damon's standing distracts me momentarily, “Does anyone care for some cognac? I have a bottle I’ve been saving for ages.”

God, me, please.

“None for me, thanks. Nine bottles of wine is my limit,” Alaric says as he downs yet another glass of wine. Jesus dude, try water sometime. 

This has everyone standing from the table. Ok then, guess I’m done eating. 

“The gentleman should take their drinks in the study,” Anna says. 

“How 1950s of you Alice,” I smile at her sarcastically.

“My name is Andie,” She says back.

“Is that not what I said,” I smile at her as I walk past her into the study. I don’t even want to go in here with them but I’m doing it to stand on principle. And that I’m kind of an asshole. But that’s not my fault since I was awoken this morning before I was able to get my full 13 hours of shut eye.

—

My fingers graze the dozens of books I walk by as Damon and Elijah converse behind me. It surprises me that Damon has so many books, when he’s so dumb. Weird. 

“Are these Stefan’s?”

Damon spares me a moment's glance, “No, they’re mine.”

I hum. Weird. Maybe he just doesn’t have comprehension skills.

“So, let me guess, in the addition to the moonstone, the doppelganger, the lion, the witch, and the wardrobe… You need to find this witch burial ground.”

“Because I feel as though we’ve grown so close, Damon,” Elijah’s words have me chuckling as I flip through a book that seems to be at least one hundred years old, “I’ll tell you yes. Do you know where it is?”

“Maybe,” Damon’s answer has Elijah walking over to him, “Tell me why it’s so important.”

“We’re not that close.”

Damon getting rejected has me snorting which catches Elijah’s attention as he smiles up to me. He notices the book I have in my hands and speaks again to Damon.

“It’s quite a collection you have here. It is a funny thing about books. Before they existed people actually had memories.”

I go to make a snarky comment at Elijah’s words but Ric comes storming into the study. 

“Gentlemen,” I clear my throat and Ric looks at me, “And Y/N. We forgot about dessert.”

Addison comes over to Elijah and raises a hand for him to take, which has a nasty feeling starting in my gut. But before it goes too far Elijah turns to me instead and reaches out his own hand, “Y/N.”

I have to fight back a snort as we walk by Amelia Bedelia as Elijah leads me into the dining room where Jenna is.  

“Sorry, guys, dessert is taking longer than I thought,” Jenna’s words have me physically deflating, “I usually just unwrap food.”

Elijah leads me to a chair and moves it so I can sit down. He sits next to me and Audrey sits across from us. 

“So, I know this is a social thing but I, I would really love to ask you some more questions about the work that you’re doing here,” She asks Elijah who agrees. I’m quite interested in what he’s going to say since he’s created this big lie surrounding, Elijah Smith.

“Great,” She continues as Damon enters the room, “Oh, that’s so great. Ric, would you do me a favor and grab the notebook out of my bag?”

She instructs Ric as Elijah’s hand finds its way back to my hand.

“Elijah, did John tell you that he’s Elena’s uncle/father?’’

Damon’s question has me sitting up right.

“Huh?!”

I look between Damon and the balding man next to me and wonder how he was able to produce a girl as pretty as Elena. Also now I’m pissed and kind of sad no one has told me this before.

“Yes, I’m well aware of that,” Even Elijah knows?!

“Of course, she hates him, so there’s absolutely no need to keep him on the endangered species list.”

Now I don’t feel bad for thinking he looked like Charlie Brown earlier. 

Adeline says something to Ric but now my full focus is on Elijah's fingers which are now grazing up and down my hand that lays on my thigh.

I can hear Dead Beat saying something to Elijah but the words won’t focus as I try to calm my breathing. Elijah’s deep voice enters my ears as I hear him threatening the two men but the soft touching hasn’t gone away. 

I’m almost comforted by the feeling now until the once soothing feeling is replaced by his hand crushing my thigh. My yells are mixed with what I’ve just now realized are Elijah’s as he crunches up in pain. A loud scream escapes my lips as I see a dagger protruding from Elijah’s back and can only watch in horror and pain as Elijah’s once soft and light skin turns to grey and veining flesh. 

I blink rapidly as everyone moves around me but all I can focus on is Elijah’s dead body. Dead. Elijah’s dead. Oh god. 

I feel someone grab my upper arm and drag me out of my seat, “What’s wrong with you?”

My breathing halts. My vision goes black and, my body hits the floor. 

[yunaversalluv]

⋆.˚ ★— Focus Pull

ᴀ ɪɴᴅɪᴇ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄɪᴀɴ!ᴇʟʟɪᴇ x ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇʀɴᴛ ᴘʜᴏᴛᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜᴇʀ!ꜰᴇᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⋆.˚ ★— Focus Pull m.list

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ `౨ৎ~

What starts as another routine gig behind the camera turns into something electric. One photo. One look. And suddenly, nothing feels ordinary anymore.

cw for this chapter// mild language, alcohol references, sensual/intense gaze, emotional intensity, brief implied violence/grunge imagery

taglist - @miajooz @talyaisvalslutsoldier @lesoulew @elliespotion @valeisaslut @mariesmagix

CHAPTER ONE - THROUGH THE LENSE

The green room isn’t green. 

It’s beige in a tired, industrial way, with mismatched chairs and a futon that looks like it’s seen war. A string of dead fairy lights droops from the ceiling. Someone left half a burrito on the amp case in the corner, and it’s been there long enough to look philosophical about it. You’ve been to worse places.

You’re early — earlier than usual — half-hoping to catch some candids of the band before they hit the stage. The kind of shots that feel more like moments than marketing. Sweatshirts slung over shoulders. Smudged eyeliner. Fingers dancing across strings like nervous habits. You knock once and step inside.

Three heads turn.

Jesse is the first to speak. “You the photo girl?”

“Photographer,” Dina corrects from where she’s sprawled on the futon, boots up on the edge of a milk crate. “God, Jesse, you make it sound like she’s here to do yearbook headshots.”

You raise your hands in a peace gesture. “Photo girl works. I’ve been called worse.”

Jesse laughs, friendly, already leaning back in his chair with an energy that says he’s been in a thousand of these rooms and somehow made peace with all of them. “I’m Jesse. Drums. The adult supervision.”

Dina snorts. “You once tried to mic a floor tom with a karaoke mic you found in the parking lot.”

“Resourcefulness is a virtue.”

She extends a hand toward you. Rings. Black nail polish chipped to hell. “Dina. Bassist. Co-leader of this circus.”

You shake her hand, and your camera strap swings forward. Jesse eyes it.

“Digital?” he asks, pretending to be disappointed.

“Film on weekends,” you reply.

“Respect.”

And then there’s a pause. A hitch in the rhythm.

Ellie’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, tuning a battered guitar that looks like it’s held together by tape, history, and spite. She hasn’t said a word. Just flicks her gaze up toward you — brief, impassive — then back to the strings.

You’re about to introduce yourself when Dina gestures vaguely at her.

“That’s Ellie.”

Ellie doesn’t look up. “Vocals, guitar, grump,” Dina adds helpfully.

“Cool,” you say, unsure if you're supposed to say more.

“She’s not being rude,” Jesse says, drumming his fingers on the edge of a case. “She’s just in pre-show mode. She gets quiet. Wound tight like a snare.”

“She’ll talk once we’re two songs deep,” Dina mutters. “Or once she forgets you’re new.”

Ellie glances up at that. Her eyes meet yours, fleeting but sharp — and something clicks there, not recognition exactly, but curiosity that cuts a little too close to the bone.

She nods, just once, then goes back to her guitar.

You hover near the edge of the room, uncertain if you’re intruding or observing, until Jesse kicks a stool toward you with his boot.

“You here for the whole set?” he asks.

You nod. “Zine sent me. Said you were good.”

“We are,” Dina says without a shred of irony, cracking open a can of something neon and carbonated. “At least when the mics work and Ellie doesn’t blow her voice screaming on the first chorus.”

Ellie, still looking down, mutters, “Maybe if someone would stop trying to play harmonies off key.”

“One time!” Dina groans.

Jesse just shakes his head, amused. “Don’t let them scare you off. We’re barely dysfunctional.”

You smile and settle in, camera resting in your lap. The band goes back to their routine — adjusting straps, double-checking cords, bantering with the tired ease of people who’ve seen each other at their best and worst and still show up.

You lift the lens once — just a test shot of the space, the light, the tension in the air.

Ellie doesn’t look up.

But her fingers still for a second.

Just long enough to make you wonder if she felt the shutter click — or if she’s just always listening that closely.

The venue is  a mess — the kind of mess that wears its history like a badge of honor. There were peeling posters clinging to the walls in half-torn layers, each one a ghost of a night long gone: punk shows, underground rap battles, someone’s embarrassing, regrettable birthday gig. They stack like tree rings, proof that time has passed and no one’s bothered to clean it up. The floor was slightly stuck in places, and stained in others. The smile of warm beer, spilled whiskey, old wood, and something metallic — sweat, maybe. Or blood. Or the memory of both fill the air.

The stage isn’t a stage, not really.

Just a platform — barely a foot off the ground  — edged with duct tape and scuffer where amps have been dragged across one too many times. A few sad lights are packed in tight, shoulder to shoulder, everybody humming with the kind of restless tension that had-conversation, half-anticipation  — rising like steam in the humid air.

This is currently your third local show this week. Same kind of venue. Same kind of crowd.

You didn’t really expect anything different tonight. The zine gave you the name of the band — Violet Thorns — and a promise of gas money. 

No bio. No soundcheck. No idea what kind of music they even play. Y

You’re only here for the paycheck and the byline. Get a few wide shots. Some gritty close-ups. Maybe a backstage candid or two. Only if they’re feeling generous. Then home to edit until your eyes blur and your coffee goes cold.

You’re adjusting your gear in the corner when the band walks on, casual and barely noticed — just shapes and moving through haze. But then she appears.

Ellie

She steps into the low light like it owes her its life. Not strutting. Not shy. Just there. Present in a way most people aren’t. Like she's been dropped into the room from a height and hasn’t quite landed yet.

She’s dressed like she didn’t try, which means she absolutely did — loose gray tee hanging just right, clinging to the sharp angles of her shoulders. Worn black jeans, frayed at the knees, snug at the hips. Guitar slung low on a battered and old strap, body of it dulled with use. Her hair’s pulled back in a messy half-knot, strands escaping to curl against her cheek and the nape of her neck.

You can already tell they’ll be soaked through with sweat before the second song.

Behind her, Jesse’s fiddling with his kit, tapping each snare and cymbal like he’s having a conversation with them. “Tell me you tuned this thing for real this time,” he mutters to no one in particular, voice half-lost in the reverb of the room.

“Relax, Jess,” Dina says from across the stage, her bass slung low, a patchwork of duct tape and sticker scars covering its body. She’s already chewing gum, rolling it between her teeth like she’s bored, “It’s not your precious open mic night. No one’s here to judge your rim shots.”

Jesse snorts, spinning a stick in his hand. “I’m just saying. Some of us care about tone.”

Ellie just huffs a laugh — the kinda that’s more breath than sound — and crutches to check her pedals. “You two done flirting or should we wait until the second set?”

“Don’t be jealous,” Dina throws back, smirking. “You’ll get your turn.”

You catch it. The exchange. The ease. The way they move around each other like this isn’t a stage but a living room they’ve rehearsed in a hundred times. Ellie doesn’t talk much, but when Jesse gives a lazy four-count with his sticks, she steps to the mic like she’s done it in her sleep.

The light hits her unevenly — a harsh red from the side, a gold hue from behind, and a single white strobe that flickers across her jaw like lightning.

The effect is strange. Disjointed. She looks like someone caught between scenes: half-dream, half-warning.

She doesn’t say much before they start. Just a glance toward the mic, a shift of weight, one sharp breath pulled into her ribs like she’s bracing for impact.

Then sound.

It starts with the guitar — distorted, tense, like a fight you can’t look away from. The first chords cut through the room like they’re trying to slice it open. Her voice follows, rough, and raw, imperfect in the best way. There’s no polish. No filter. Just this unvarnished ache in ever note, like shes trying to claw something out from under her skin and throw it at the crowd.

She doesn’t perform so much as bleed.

And everyone watches.

But she doesn’t watch them.

She doesn’t need to.

You’re shooting on instinct now, moving through the space like you’ve done a hundred times before. The lighting’s unpredictable, ISO climbing too high, shutter struggling to catch the motion. You frame wide. Pull in close. Try to get something usable through the chaos. You’re focusing on the mechanics, not the meaning.

Until she steps forward.

It's not much. Just a half-step. But it’s more than enough. Her fingers tighten around the mic stand like it’s the only thing tethering her to this world, and when the chorus crests — sound crashing into a wave of desperate melody — she lifts her gaze.

And stares straight down the lens.

You freeze.

The crowd, the noise, the movement — all of it falls away in that one second. 

Her expression doesn’t shift. She’s not smiling. Not posing. Her jaw is tight, a muscle jumping just under the skin. There’s sweat shining at her temple, catching in the collar of her shirt. But her eyes — god her eyes — are locked on yours. And there’s something in them that burns.

Not anger.

Not exactly

Intensity. Recognition, maybe. Or a challenge

You take the shot

Click.

You don’t remember adjusting the focus. Don’t remember breathing. You just know — somehow — that it’s right. The lighting is too harsh, the composition almost accidental, but it doesn’t matter. One half of her face is too harsh, the composition almost accidental, but it doesn’t matter. Her sartre pinned to the glas slike she sees something she wasn’t supposed to find, Like she's seeing you.

And it's not pretty.

But it’s honest.

It’s the kind of photo you don’t take twice.

Later, you retreat to the back of the room, gear slung over your shoulder, adrenaline tapering off into exhaustion. The band crashes into their final chorus, and the crowd moves as one body — sweaty, screaming, vibrating with borrowed emotion.

“Drinks after?” Jesse asks, tossing his sticks into a canvas bag backstage.

“God, no,” Dina gorans, stripping off her bass.”I need to un-peel my jeans and die for like, eight hours.”

“You were off during the bridge,” Ellie says quietly, wiping sweat from the back of her neck.

“I was improvising,” Dina shoots back with a grin. “You’re welcome.”

Ellie just gives a one-shoulder shrug, too tired to argue, but something like a smirk tugs at her lips.

You open your camera. Scroll past the noise.

And there it is.

The shot.

Your stomach flips. Something tightens behind your ribs.

She looks electric.

Unreachable.

Like the camera fell in love and didn’t bother to tell you.

You should delete it. You know that. It feels too raw. Too invasive. Like you caught someone in the middle of a confession they didn’t mean to make. But your fingers hover — hesitate — and instead, you flag it. Mark it for export. Tell yours it's just part of the job.

Another face in your portfolio

@lowlightarchive (you) [photo attached]

📸 Violet Thorns at Saint Monday — one of those sets that hits harder in the dark. 🕷️ #violetthorns #grungeaesthetic #concertphotography #indiescene #shotoncanon

♡ 12.5k 🗨️5.5k 

💬 @cassettepunk

This is giving 90s riot girl energy. Who is she and why do I want her to ruin my life???

💬 @undergrounddaily This is the photo that will be in future music docs about the revival of raw-stage grunge. Bookmark this.

💬 @lesbianpit420 she’s either about to kiss the photographer or kill them, and either way I support her

💬 @sixstringtheory been in the scene for years — haven’t seen a photo hit like this since early Yeah Yeah Yeahs. lightning in a lens.

💬 @ellieislord IS SHE LOOKING AT THE CAMERA LIKE THAT ON PURPOSE?????

💬 @lesbianbandcamp the camera didn’t catch her. it unlocked her.

💬 @mossandmurcury caption this: “I want you to see me, but only how I say.”

💬 @zinebite Need a name. Need a source. Need a fucking interview. Where is the band’s PR?

You don’t know yet that it’s already started.

That the photo will spread like wildfire — viral in a way you’ve never experienced. That people will see what you saw and twist it into a thousand meanings. That Ellie will find it. That she’ll send you a message, hours later, in the deep end of the night.

No greeting.

No context.

Just one question:

“Why were you staring so long?”

[kentbot]

Novelty

superman | clark kent x fem!reader

Chapter 3

a/n: reader is formally introduced FINALLY, and chapters are getting longer :}

word count: 2k

previous | next

It was only Tuesday, but Clark Kent was already having a shitty week.

The buzz and chatter of the Daily Planet only serve to worsen the growing headache that his work and “extracurricular” activities were providing him.

For the past two days, Clark had spent the better part of them trying to prevent villains from wrecking Metropolis. Every time he took a threat down, he felt like the next one popped up even stronger and harder to subdue.

In just the past three weeks, he’d already taken down more bad guys than he had in his year as Superman, yet public tension was still escalating regarding his “recklessness” with public property. Last night the Galaxy Broadcasting Station called him a “super-powered bowling ball”, and videos had already begun circulating Twitter of him getting knocked into a Metropolis skyscraper with the hashtag “superfail”. It wasn’t as bad as some of the other ones, but it still stung.

On top of all that, Clark needed to have an article submission by Perry’s desk by the end of the day, already behind because of the constant distractions outside of work.

He was so distracted by his work that he barely noticed the Chief rounding on the office, introducing the new journalist who wrote the article about Superman’s epic failures in public property protection.

“OK, Everyone, this is the new hire joining the journalism team. She’ll primarily be focusing on meta-human affairs with a specialization in private and government intervention.”

Tuning Perry out as he makes the final edits to his article, only acknowledging your presence when you step up to introduce yourself to his corner of the office.

Recognition sparks in his memory, watching as the beautiful sharp-tongued reporter from last week introduces herself as the newest addition to the Daily Planet's journalist roster. When Perry moves aside, you step up to say your first and last name, Clark subconsciously letting an accusatory “You!” fall from his lips.

His outburst catches your attention, your practiced gaze turning to him as you cock your head thoughtfully. “Have we met?” You ask, careful and calculating.

Clark's lips thin, trying his best to school his face into one of indifference. “You’re the one who wrote the Superman article that’s being published soon,” he states, no question in his tone.

Recognition alights in your memory then, blank face morphing into a cheshire smile as Clark waits for your answer. “Ah yes, you must be Clark Kent then, big blue’s fanboy at the Planet”.

At your comment, Lois snorts into her coffee, Jimmy’s mouth dropping to his chin, turning his chair to neglect the photospread he was working on.

“AHA”, Perry laughs at the dig, patting your back as he wipes a tear from his eye, “I like her already!”

Clark is not so amused, watching in quiet frustration as Perry assigns you a desk right across from Lois, and directly in his line of sight.

Chief uses his final moments with the staff to antagonize Clark more as he walks away. “I needed that article on my desk yesterday for review, Clark. Get on it.”

Coworkers begin to crowd you as you settle into your station, as Clark reluctantly returns to his work, the incessant chatter of the office now rising because of your arrival, made ten times worse by his superhuman hearing.

“Hello beautiful”, Jimmy leans on the corner of your desk in a way you could only faux-sav, grinning at you as you attempt to fix up your desk. “The name’s James Olsen, but all my friends call me Jimmy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, James ”, replying smoothly as you place your “Gotham Gazette” coffee mug on the desk

“Ouch,” Lois laughs, pushing past Jimmy to extend her hand for a formal greeting.

“Lois Lane, glad to have you on the team.”

You smile back at her, taking her hand in a firm handshake, “Lois, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m a big fan of your work.”

She beams at you, letting her hand drop as she finds a spot to settle near your desk.

Everyone takes turns introducing themselves, except one, Cat Grant almost bowling you over when she captures you in a tight hug.

“Clark, get over here and introduce yourself”, Jimmy calls, oblivious to the tension between the pair of you.

Clark’s shoulders hunch before he looks up from his work, content to have stayed out of the conversation.

Steeling himself in an attempt to establish some sort of civility in your professional relationship, Clark stands up to walk over to your desk.

“Lois was right about what she said earlier, we’re lucky to have you at the Daily Planet.” He gives a small smile before continuing, “I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

You watch him carefully with unrelenting eyes, like you’re trying to figure out if he’s being earnest with his words.

You return the smile, though it doesn’t reach your eyes, “Thanks. I’m sure we’ll be working together a lot since we cover the same topics”.

“I’ll be looking forward to it”, Clark says, seeing the challenge in your eyes and refusing to back down.

So much for workplace civility.

─────────────────────

The next time Clark is late to work, it’s because he’s getting slammed by into the Zesty Cola skycraper by a large fire-breathing kaiju - the second one in two weeks.

God, Perry is going to kill him. At least he was on his lunch this time.

The previous kaiju attack had taken out half of Centennial Park and had taken him and the Justice Gang two hours to subdue. Now he was going to deal with the media reporting on the damage to the headquarters of one of the most beloved cola brands in Metropolis.

Thankfully, this kaiju only took him thirty minutes to handle, but he was sure the Centennial Park upheaval and fallen skyscraper would come up somehow in the article you’ll write this week.

He’d read some of the work you’d done at the Gotham Gazette, and while you were a damn good journalist, it’s clear you had some sort of agenda against superheroes. He’d cringed particularly hard at a fringe piece you’d written on a Batman-Joker skirmish that left a whole block of Arkham decimated, just toeing the line between a proper journal article and professional hate mail.

(He lowkey thought that bats deserved it, but he’d never admit that you)

Always at the scene of the crime, you show up with your notepad, pen, and recorder, always ready to criticize anything about his actions. 

He almost wanted to fly away after turning the Kaiju over to the MHCA, but you’d probably say something about that in your article, too.

The second his feet touch the ground, you’re already writing something on your notepad, watching him from a distance.

He takes the initiative this time and approaches you after making his rounds, saying your last name with a tight-lipped smile.

“I didn’t think you would know my name”, you say, giving him that same coy look he’d become familiar with over the weeks of your reporting on him.

Clark chuckles without humor, leveling you with a straight look. “No shot I wouldn’t know the name of the journalist at the Daily Planet that’s been dragging my name through the mud.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, cocky smile never leaving your face, “I didn’t think the Superman, savior of Metropolis, would be offended by honest reporting.”

He scoffs as you continue, “I don’t pull my punches, Superman, and I refuse to apologize for not coddling you like other reporters love to do.”

You don’t mention any names, but Clark still bristles at your insinuation of him coddling himself.

“This isn’t about journalism. It’s about adding fuel to the flames of an already dangerous fire”. Clark crosses his arms as he faces you, trying to get you to understand his point.

“Civilians have been apprehensive since this new wave of public safety attacks, and writing inflammatory articles about Superman, regardless of your intention, only makes the situation worse.”

You school your face to impassiveness, letting him continue. “I see your passion for journalism, and I respect your desire to keep heroes accountable, especially when they deserve it, but I can say with absolute certainty that now is not the time.”

You let the silence stretch taut between you both, caught a bit off guard by the turn of the conversation. You’d half-expected him to approach you with more defenses for his actions this week, but had been surprised by his earnestness regarding public hysteria about the constant danger plaguing Metropolis for the past two months.

“Ok, Superman, I’ll bite.” You state, turning your recorder on and pointing it at his face, ”Do you have any speculations as to what may be causing the rise in villain attacks all over the country? It seems that Metropolis is not the only city that’s been through the ringer these past few months.”

Now it’s his turn to be taken off guard, surprised by your line of questioning. Almost unbelieving that you hadn’t tried to get him in some verbal-trap or write in an angle that would most certainly make his week worse. He knew Arkham and Star City were also facing the same problems and had been in talks with Batman and the Flash about arranging a classified meeting.

He feels like a fish taking your bait when he answers, “I don’t have any solid leads yet, but I assure you that my colleagues and I at the Justice League are working our hardest to find answers for the sudden surge in attacks.”

“Do you think there’s any foul play involved, or are you hoping that these threats may just be one large coincidence?”

“I can’t say for sure, but it doesn’t seem that any of the attacks are coordinated, so for now we’re ruling out any connection between attacks on different cities. However, we’re still keeping our options open and investigating as thoroughly as possible.

You click your microphone off then, placing the device in your bag as you look up at him.

“Thanks Superman. That’s all I needed.” You give him a wry smile, repeating the phrase from your first encounter.

You can still see the skepticism on his face, the unwillingness to trust your proverbial token of goodwill.

Without any warning, you pull your notepad out of your bag, ripping off the most recent page and showing it to him before shredding it into pieces in front of him.

You grin at the shock on his face, extending out a hand for him to shake.

“It’s a show of good faith. I just ripped up all my previous notes, and I’ll only use the conversation I recorded for my next article. I promise”

He’s slow to take your outstretched hand, but when he does, his grip is firm, your hand dwarfed by his much larger one.

“How do I know you’re not gonna twist my words again?” He asks, your hand still warm in his.

You smile at him one more time, this one a little more honest than your previous ones.

“Guess you’ll have to read it when it comes out, " you say, pulling away from him as you start to walk away.

Despite himself, Clark finds himself smiling back, curious about what you’ll publish next week.

That smile is quickly wiped off his face, though when he realizes he’s going to be twenty minutes late for lunch again.

“Shit,” he muttered, checking his watch. Another lunch break ruined by a kaiju — and maybe, an even scarier reporter.

─────────────────────

a/n: as always, pls follow and comment to be added to taglist :], all comments and reblogs are appreciated!!

taglist: @diasnohibng, @secretkittydreamland, @insideoutjulie, @just-pure-trash, @or-was-it-just-a-dream,

[thehealthyfearofeverything]

The Kitchen Sink

SYNOPSIS; “ You were on the roof out in the open with Nightwing, Richard Grayson, Nightwing. The first Robin, the original Boy Wonder.”

Or you have a late night talk with Nightwing.

Chapter Four || Up The Down Trench.

Warnings: Depression, implied Suicide, the reader makes a joke and references to her Suicide from the first chapter, a character assume the reader is trying to commit Suicide, she not it’ a misunderstanding.

You may have had a few oversights in your rush not to be placed in Gotham's foster system. In your defense, you were panicked, just lost Mama and two of your three best friends were in the hospital, and that whole thing in the library. So smaller details were bound to fall to the wayside.

Said details seemed to create the woman in front of you, who was currently staring you down from across a cluttered desk. The woman was brunette, middle aged and visibly exhausted. When she had came in, at 9 fucking a.m You had been dragged into the tiny room that was her office.

Literally dragged in.

This woman had tugged you after her by the collar of your shirt as if you were a disobedient kitten. Pulling you from the bare cafeteria, where you noticed that there were probably ten other children, all scrawny with paranoid hollow eyes. Not that you can judge, you knew that you weren’t doing any better. Though you had to look away when you noticed that you weren’t even the youngest of the bunch.

Ms. Shari— Sharon? Cheryl? Cheyenne? Shannon? You weren’t exactly listening when she introduced herself and she didn’t have a name tag for you to check— was this no-nonsense social worker what partnered with the Youth Shelter. Her job she had explained when you toned back in was to determine the severity of your case, to create your file, help you get assigned to your own social worker, and track down any living relatives.

Much to Ms. Cheryl exhaustion, you weren't making a single aspect of her job easy. She tapped her pen against the paper sitting before her, a rhythmic tapping that created the only sound in the small space. If you were to look at the paper in front of her, you’d see written in neat handwriting the only information you had willingly offered your name and age. 

“ Uh, Ms…. Can you help me identify a body?” You asked. The women suddenly looked alert, as if what you said was unreasonable. 

“What do you mean?” She asked. You shrugged and slumped down in your seat. Deciding to stare down at your hand, picking at the frayed skin away from your nails.

“ My Mama died yesterday, she’s probably at some morgue, but I know if she’s left unclaimed she’ll just be incinerated.” You muttered.

The social worker leans a little over her desk, you felt her eyes bore into you. “Is that how you got your injuries?” She asked almost soothingly.

Again you shrugged. “You know that failure of a field trip that happened yesterday? The one the Joker crashed? Yeah… I was there.” it had gone silent after that then in a small voice Ms. Cheyenne said;

“I’m sorry no child should have to go through that.”

She sounded genuine, but all you could do was humed in response.

“I’ll see what i can do, about your mother i mean, but to do that i’ll need you to cooperate with me.”

“I’ll be cooperative as long as I'm not placed in a foster family.” That sounded harsher than you meant it to be, but the social worker didn’t seem offended about it. Instead she looked like she understood where you were coming from. Some foster parents and social workers were a part of child trafficking rings, Most foster homes were just abusive, and although there were a few foster homes that were good, like genuinely good—that had the kids well being in mind. But the good homes were few and far in between and you rather be safe than sorry. 

The women merely nodded.

After reaching some kind of unspoken understanding with Ms. Cheryl, you were much more cooperative. Willingly telling her your previous address, your mother’s name, your name, middle name, last name, birthday, even social security number.

You were in the office for a little over thirty minutes.

“And that’s time.” Ms. Cheryl said, checking her watch and then heaving a deep sigh. You got up quietly, simply nodding your head in her direction.

“You’re a smart girl ya know.” She said, You cast a look over your shoulder. She was slumped in her chair, and her eyes were closed. She looked tired.

 “I’d figured that I would get better help in a place with the Wayne name attached to it.” You knew what she was talking about. A lot of children distrusted the foster system– with good reason– even when the Wayne name was attached to it. Gothamites were prideful and stubborn people, they hold little trust in the systems in place.

The women hummed in response. “ I’ll get back to you about your mother.”

With that you left the office.

You were in the room the youth shelter provided, there were two beds, two dressers, and no closet. One bed was bare, just fitted with a simple gray sheet. The bed May assigned you had a cream cover and matching pillows.

It was a rare sunny day, which was unexpected considering how much it rained yesterday. You planned on going out today, just wander around and not get caught by the truancy police, then later on try calling your friends to tell them you’re safe. You didn’t have to worry about school, the social worker said so. Apparently the schools that were invited to the publicity stunt gone wrong have the next few weeks off.

The other kids still had to go to school, a local public school. So you were by yourself for the time being.

Your fingers traced the patches on Tobey’s jacket, the one under your finger was a cluster of goombas from the Mario games, on the right sleeves was a line of the ghost from Pacman. There were more, mostly on the front and sleeves since Red Robin’s logo was on the back and Toby would never cover it.

You didn’t even like the Gotham vigilantes— well not any more. Maybe it was because you're in the DC universe, In Gotham and not just a passive reader who can just close the comic book and disengage anytime you want. This was your life now, you were stuck in Gotham and if you played your cards right and remained a wallflower maybe one day you can make enough money to leave this cursed city. 

You’d talked about it a few times. The first time it came up was at the third sleepover you had with Tobey. 

You were five, lazing on the rug in the living room of Tobey’s apartment. You watched the ceiling fan blades spin. The sunlight – a rarity–from the balcony would dance with each turn, and the boy was laying next to you. The soft buzz of music drifting from the kitchen and the smell of breakfast had your stomach growling.

 “ What do you think Metropolis is like?” Tobey asked, propping himself up on his elbows. You hummed and inclined your head to look at the fat faced boy. You haven’t read much Superman focused comics, mostly following the super sons or Tim drake’s young justice. You mainly hand interest on anything Bat Fam focused.

“Bright, and safe and sunny, imagine meeting Superman.” You said. Tobey smiled.

“Would you want to live there?” Tobey asked and you rolled onto your stomach. 

“Duh, who wouldn’t?”

The second time was at the first sleepover with Jamie and Nettie. With them simple musing about living in Metropolis tuned into owning a cafe-library hybrid— where the first floor was the cafe and the second was a library.

“ The library would be like a loft!” Jamie said, a smile already splitting his chubby face. “With a huge window so that we can look down into the cafe!”

Nettie nodded. “ And we’ll have spiral stairs to get to the library, and an escalator!” she added.

“Elevator.” you had corrected her. Nettie had stuck her tongue out at you.

“Tobey and Birdie can run the library part and me and Jamie can run the cafe!”

Jamie nodded long and Tobey because he was deemed the better artist was drawing out the future plans.

“ Why do I have to manage the library?” you asked. Nettie puffed out her chest, a smug expression painted on her face as she patted her chest.

“My Ma is teachin’ me how to bake and she’s the best at it so our cafe will have the world's bestest sweets.” she said.

Everything was so simple then, it was fun to just sit at a coffee table and imagine that cafe-library. Bickering about the menu or talking about what books to add to the library, though you guys never could agree on a name.

You saw the tear soak into the sleeve on the jacket and you blinked in surprise. 

Oh, you were crying.

You wiped at your eyes, you couldn’t cry now there was still too much to do. You couldn’t cry until Mama’s body was properly dealt with, you couldn’t cry until you knew that Jamie, Nettie and Tobey were okay. You couldn’t cry, not now at least.

You had to give Tobey back his jacket, you had to buy Nettie a new glasses chain and you had Jamie still alive, he had the worst injury out of the three.

So no you couldn’t cry, because if you cried now you wouldn’t stop. 

You’re an adult, you remind yourself, you’re 25 years old, just because you spent the last four years in a child’s body doesn't mean that you're actually a child. But physically— physically you're nine years old and everyone treated you like a nine year old girl… sometimes it’s easy to forget that you're an adult when everyone treats you as a child. 

Miss May had told you to stay in the shelter until school was out so that you wouldn’t get caught by the truancy officers, she had also told you that the shelter had an open door policy– that there wasn’t a mandatory curfew but she would prefer it if you came back before 9.

That was reasonable, although you were in a better part of Gotham doesn't mean that you were safe. There was no part of this city that could be called safe. You roamed the streets of the university district, it was clean, nice and smelled of something other than blood and alcohol. On every street was some kind of bakery, clothing store, chain restaurant and fast food joint that wouldn’t dare open in the Narrows.

You wandered into a few, buying a couple of new patches for Tobey’s jacket, found a cute glasses chain with little cats hanging off of it for Nettie, and a simple black stuffed rabbit for Jamie. He was always fond of cute things, and rabbits and bunnies according to him were the cutest animals to ever exist. 

Two days passed, the social worker woman had managed to locate Mama’s body and set up an appointment so you can claim it. You haven't called your friends yet — it's nerve -wracking to do so, but you promised yourself that after you claimed Mama’s body and properly put her to rest that you’ll call them.

You dreamed of your apartment, the one you had with Mama, the one you lived in when you were that 22 year old college student and the one you lived in with mom and later grandpa. It was a strange fusion between the three, a cat tree in the corner, a fish tank blocking the balcony door the old couch mama would lay on after work.

The carpet changed between brown, tan, and gray. The apartment was quiet, it was disconcerting quiet. And you were home alone, you knew it, but it was quiet. Even quiet places were filled with little white noises. The buzz from the kitchen, the thrum from the fish tank, the footsteps from the apartment above, the honking of car horns, the bits of loud conversation that would drift up to the windows.

 Your apartment was filled with little white noises, outside of the apartment was overflowing with little white noises that would seep and mix with the white noise inside the apartment. 

But this quiet was quiet. No noise whatsoever, just you and your thoughts and all of your little observations. You could feel the goose bumps form on your arms.

Bile rose in your throat, and you shot upright, throwing back the chair as you rushed to get to the bathroom. 

You barely made it in time to empty your stomach in the toilet. You coughed, spitting the last of the foul, burning liquid from your mouth, and wiped the back of your hand over your lips. You stayed there for a full minute, hunched over the bowl and waiting for your stomach to settle, before standing and flushing. You slowly stepped up to the sink and raked your fingers through your hair, breathing deeply.

Huh, what brought that on?

Usually there were signs of nausea before throwing up, lightheaded, a twisting of the gut, difficulties to breath. 

But this was so sudden, with no build up, and no way to prevent it. 

Fucking gross. Leaning over the sink and staring at the mirror intensely. A solemn-looking reflection gazing back at you. 

That’s not what you're supposed to look like, you’re supposed to have the face of a nine year old girl who has yet to fully grow into her features.

You looked like a mess. You looked like you were 22 again.

You looked so tired, your eyes were sunken in and dull and lifeless as if someone plucked the eyes off a corpse and put them into your skull. And wow Birdie was prettier than you.

You left the bathroom. At the end of the hall was a figure, it was small and vaguely person shaped. Narrowing your eyes you took a few cautious steps forwards.

“ Hello?” you called like every dumb horror movie character. Your hand brushed along the wall until you found the light switch, you flicked it up.

Oh, there was Birdie. She was standing at the end of the hall, her head was bowed and she was wearing that penguin printed nightgown, the same nightgown when you woke up in her body. 

“Thief.” She muttered. Your heart hammered in your chest.

“What?” 

“THIEF!” The girl snarled as she snapped her head up, her eyes burning with hate.

You startle awake, unnerved by your dream. The images and words fade away within seconds of waking, the way all dreams do, and you're left puzzled and ill at ease. you rub your eyes, as you sit up — the covers pooling around your waist.

It was raining earlier, but the rain has stopped now and the sky is cloudy and dim. You can only stay in one place for so long. You left the youth shelter– you wrapped Tobey’s jacket tighter around yourself, and held tight to your chest was the stuffed rabbit you’re going to give to Jamie.

Ever since being it you had gotten attached to the thing, maybe it was the color but it reminds you of Jamie. It’s late--you doesn’t know how late--and the city is lit up below you. You’re not standing on the tallest building in the district; it’s only about twenty floors tall. And it gives you a good view of this part of the city.

You’re on the roof of an abandoned industrial building, something a street kid showed you a few days ago. You stroll along the edge of the building, hands tucked into the pockets of Tobey’s jacket, leaning over the edge to look over the city. You can see and hear over two dozen red and blue lights and sirens lining the city streets, each moving in different directions. A distant spotlight shines against the clouds with the image of the bat signal. 

You can hear the distant crack of gunfire nearby. It seems to come from every direction. The whole city was a constant war zone. It reminds you of the Narrows. In the Narrows at least the crime didn’t stop once the sun rose, people would be mugged in broad daylight and that would be the average Tuesday.

A building erupts into flames in the distance. More sirens begin, and you can see helicopters fly towards the fire. You focus on that area of town. What villain is attacking? Was it the scarecrow? The penguin? A group of nameless goons? A drug cartel? The longer you look, the more you lean over the ledge, as if that would help you see who’s responsible for the fire.

“ Hey, can you step away from the ledge?” A voice said from behind you, it's calm and gentle as if trying to sooth a feral animal. You jumped in place, as you whirls around to find yourself staring up at a masked man in a black suit with blue, stylized wings spread across the chest. You tensed.

Aw fuck it’s Nightwing.

“ When did— where did you come from?” You asked. You were two for two when it came to meeting batfam members. Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence and three times is a pattern. You hope this isn’t a pattern because then you somehow ended up in their orbit.

“The building to the right.” Nightwing says carefully as he walks over to you. He stands an arm’s reach from you and offers his hand.

“I’m Nightwing.”

“I know.” you said, eyeing the outstretched hand. There was no way you were going to touch him, that would make things too real. When you spoke to Babs( can you call her that?) you had the reception desk separating the two of you. But here you had no such luxury. You were on the roof out in the open with Nightwing, Richard Grayson, Nightwing. The first Robin, the original Boy Wonder. 

Still it would be rude not to take his hand, and both Mom and Mama raised you with manors. So you reached out to grasp Nightwing’s outstretched hand. The man pulls you from the edge of the building and spins you around so that he stands on the ledge and you stand where he was– near the center of the roof.

“What the fuck?” You gasped. What the hell just happened?

“There! All better!” Nightwing holds your hand a little too long. You frowned and pulled your hand from his.

“Are you Alright? Actually, scratch that, that’s not the best question, if you were fine you would be on a roof at three in the mourning.”

You wiped you hand on Tobey’s jacket, did he think you were going to kill yourself? Your frown deepened. If you were going to kill yourself(again) than you would’t jump(again) you’d try something different.

“ I wasn’t going to jump.” You said, hugging Jamie’s rabbit to your chest, your fingers idly playing the one of its felt ears. “ I had enough of jumping from high places…I couldn’t sleep so I came up here to clear my mind, then I got distracted by the fire.”

Nightwing frowns at you. “ Many people come up to tall buildings to think. Do you want to talk about it, at least for a little while?”

Nightwing frowns again, as he brings a hand up and presses it against his ear. A comm? Maybe, most likely. His focus, however, remains on you.

“ Mister Nightwing sir, I'm fine, truly. No need to worry about me, I do all my best thinking on bridges anyways.” you said. You didn't want to keep him away from his superhero work, and you didn’t want him near longer than necessary.

“ I was about to leave soon anyway, I don’t want Miss May to worry about me.”

The vigilante sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, he glanced at the fire then trunks back to you. “ Let me take you home at least.”

“ I’m staying at the Martha Wayne Youth Center.”

“ Why’s that? If you don’t mind me asking.” He pulled out a grappling hook, spinning it in his hand before tightening his grip on the handle. He held it out to show you.

“What are you a cop?” You deadpanned. He smiles.

“ That’s not far, I can drop you of and make it in time” He points the grappling hook at a higher building. 

“ You’ll have to hold on tight though.” Nightwing opened his other arm, inviting you to hang on. you glanced at the shot, then up at the ledge Nightwing was aiming at.

“Just, don’t drop me, I've never done this before.” You said, awkwardly shuffling over to throw your arms around the vigilante. Nightwing wrapped his arm tight around your waist, making sure he had a good hold.

“I’m a natural at-”

“Dropping children?” You cut in.

“Ha! No. Carrying them. Even if you did fall, I would catch you.” Nightwing chuckled, as he fired his grappling hook.

“I don’t want to fall again.” You glanced downward, while they were reeled across rooftops. You missed the concerned look and frown from the hero holding you in his arms.

“You never told me your name.” You looked up at the man. You understood why he was being so clingy, any normal person would. He thought you, a (physically) nine year old, was about to take your own life. 

“You can call me Birdie.”

“ It’s nice to meet you Birdie.”

That night, before you fall asleep, you pray it’s not a pattern.

Tag List:

@jsprien213 @vxsire @sick2mystmch @not-aya @seemeee3 @wendee-go @mileskisser @cynniee @djpuppy-kittens @pix-stuff @godoreo22

A/n: ask box and tag list is open!

reader: something's not right here. *narrows eyes* am I the main character? God I hope not.

PART 3—Interlude—HERE

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Price has retired from Military life, and he's not handling the change well. But on the one year anniversary of him hanging it up, his boys bring him something special to help keep him busy. You.

Chapter Two - An Understanding

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Contains: No Y/N (Reader is an OC), Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Alcohol mention, Smoking mention (Tobacco), I guess this might count as human trafficking?, Dubcon everything because Reader is terrified (non-sexual), plus-sized reader, fem/afab reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real, More reader details given, but we're still pretty vague about it. Even though it is hard for me. No promises for future chapters though.

~3.8k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above

The captain looks at you for a long moment, dark blue eyes wide with surprise as he takes you in. You have to admit that he’s handsome, dark brown hair and well-groomed facial hair (muttonchops, no less) flecked with silver, and a nice nose that skews to the large side. It gives him a friendly, approachable demeanour, despite the weight of his stare. His heavy attention shifts from you to the other three, and his expression turns serious. “Lads,” he says, his voice a rumble that you can feel through your own body. “Please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Weeeel. It might be,” Johnny says apprehensively. “But I did my research, sir. She’ll be perfect for ye, ye’ll see.”

“She’s a good girl,” Ghost adds. “Sweet as can be. Won’t be any trouble for you.”

“Already moved her in and everything.” Gaz gestures around the room, looking rather too proud of their work.

The captain nods slowly, taking in the new additions to the space. “So you did. And did this pretty little thing agree to having her life upended, or did you lads just decide for her?” His arms shift around you, and you feel almost protected, oddly enough, even though by the size of him, he’s just as dangerous as the others. Probably even more dangerous, the way they defer to him, standing in a line like cadets, eager for his approval.

“Not… Not exactly,” Gaz admits. “I mean, we didn’t ask. But this’ll be better for her. She was living in a real rat hole before. Tiny little apartment in a shite neighbourhood. Was only a matter of time before something bad happened. We’re just looking out for her.”

Johnny shuffles his feet. “Dealt with a few neds while I was doin’ reconnaissance, even. Poor lass coulda been in real trouble if I hadna been there. Bawbag employers would ask her to stay past the last bus to watch the bairns an’ no’ even offer her a ride or ta pay fer a cab.”

“It wasn’t that far a walk,” you protest, glaring at Johnny. As if it’s any of his business. “And they did offer to drive me, I just wasn’t— It doesn’t matter! You had no right—”

The captain shushes you, and your words wither on your tongue, your cheeks turning hot under his stern blue gaze. He cups your jaw and turns your head to face him again, the rough pad of his thumb stroking your cheek gently. “Sweetheart, you and I will talk in a moment. Soap’s right about that not bein’ safe, and you know it.”

Your stomach flutters nervously. He gives you a little smile, and his crow’s feet deepen, the lines fanning out further. There’s a moment where you’re tempted to smile back, but his legs shift under you, and you wince sympathetically instead. “Sorry, I should get off of you,” you say quickly. “I’m heavy.”

“I won’t stop you if you’d like to sit somewhere else,” he says, that cheeky smile deepening more. "But you’re not heavy, and I'd like it if you stayed put."

"Told ye he'd like her," Johnny whispers, loud enough that it shatters the isolated pocket of reality that, for a moment, housed only you and the captain. "Hasna even introduced himself an' he's flirtin' like mad."

"Soap!" Gaz hisses back. "Shut up."

Ghost scruffs them both. "Let's finish getting dinner on. Give 'em a minute to talk."

Johnny grins at you and gives you two thumbs up as he circles around to the kitchen, as if you’d actually been a willing participant in all of this.

"I'm John, by the way," the captain says, calling your attention back to him. He drops his hand and settles it on your knee, his fingers curling around the joint. "You alright, doll?"

A loaded question. "Well. Not really."

"You're keepin' it together real nicely, all considered. Wouldn't blame you if you were hissin' and scratching."

"I'm not much of a fighter," you admit. "And even if I was, I don't think it would do me much good."

John chuckles, squeezing your knee lightly. He's gentle, but there's power in those hands, the kind that comes from years of hard work. There's scars all over it, from his the tips of his calloused fingers up to the leather band of his watch, etched in evidence of violence. If there are scars further up his arms, their hidden by the buffalo plaid flannel. "No, it probably wouldn't."

"Are you going to let me go home?" you ask.

He sighs. "The thing is, doll, the boys have put me in an awkward spot here. If I let you go on home, you're going to get them in trouble, and I don't want to see that happen."

"I promise, I won't say anything, I just--"

He shushes you again, and you shut your mouth, biting your lip. "Let me finish, sweetheart. You're being so good right now because you're scared. But that's not gonna last, is it? And worse, it sounds like you don't really have much to go back to."

"I'll find a new job. I always do."

"With another family who doesn't appreciate the work you put in? That doesn't make you feel safe?" His fingertips toy with the edge of your skirt absently, but his eyes are on your face, studying your reaction with rapt attention. This is how a rabbit must feel, pinned under the stare of a grizzly bear, frozen in place and hoping that no claws come down on top of it. "I can read between the lines, doll. That man you were workin' for made you feel so uncomfortable that you'd rather walk through a bad neighbourhood at night than get into a car with him alone."

You can't dispute it, although you're surprised he can glean so much information from half an outburst. "It wasn't like that-- He wasn't that bad."

John hums. "You're tellin' me you've had worse?"

A dozen jobs with a dozen managers or coworkers that took your silence as permission to stand too close, or put their hands on you flash across your mind. Mr. Kinsey was just the latest of many. You know that the thought is displayed on your face, from the way his eyebrows pinch together just slightly, not angrily, but concerned. You try to deflect with a little laugh. "Oh, well. I suppose I have. But hasn't everyone?"

"Soap had a bad lieutenant once and locked the man in his own car when he was just a private. Just because you have a bad boss doesn't mean you have to take it." He looks at you so seriously as he speaks, his fingers dancing distracting circles against the top of your knee, rough fingertips catching on the nylons just slightly. The heat from the arm curled around your waist bleeds through the fabric of your dress, his hand twitching slightly, like all he wants to do is take a handful of soft flesh. “You should speak up when you’re not comfortable, doll. You just need some practice standin’ up for yourself, don’t you?”

If a statement could have teeth, this one would, and you’re not sure if agreeing or disagreeing will have him closing his jaws around you. He’s probably right, you do need to do a better job of standing up for yourself. But you’re certain that he doesn’t want you to start by standing up to him, or his three attack dogs either. “I’ll work on it,” you say meekly. You test his commitment to the statement by gently picking his hand off of your knee, although there’s nowhere to really put it either.

“We’ll work on it,” he agrees, lacing your fingers together. When he rests your now-entwined hands, it’s a little further up your thigh. “You want a drink, darlin’?”

“Oh, um, no thank you.” You wouldn’t mind another tea, but you don’t think that’s what you’re being offered.

The scrutiny he puts you under is intense, like he’s determined to figure out what every microscopic shift in your expression might mean. “You sure, doll? You gotta ask if you want somethin’, or you won’t get it.”

“I would like a tea. But I can make it, I don’t want to be trouble.”

“Nonsense. Lads?” he tips his head back slightly.

“On it, sir,” Gaz replies cheerfully.

Ghost leans over the back of the couch to hand John a tumbler. Whiskey or scotch, by the sharp smell that hits you. John pulls his hand away from yours to accept the glass. “Thank you, Simon,” he says pleasantly. "Good lad."

“S’your party, sir. An’ you’re busy, ain’t you?” Ghost rests his hands on the back of the couch and studies the pair of you, dark eyes gleaming with pride. The man has the demeanour of a cat that’s brought in a helpless little bunny to his master, while it’s still alive and struggling.

“Gettin’ to know our pretty guest.” John smiles at you over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip. “She’s a sweet girl.”

“Isn’t she just?”

“Could I, um, sit over there?” you ask, glancing at the chair. Somehow John had managed to distract you from the idea of moving for a while, but you were still eager to get a little space from him, especially with Ghost looming over both of you.

“Of course, sweetheart,” John’s arm loosens, and you quickly get up and move to the chair.

You almost feel cold, without the heat that radiates off of his body. His attention feels weightier now too, or maybe it’s just that his body isn’t shielding the stares from Johnny, Gaz and Ghost, and you’re subjected to all four of them watching you, like you’re either fascinating or delicious (or both). You cross your arms over your chest and shrink into yourself as much as possible, eyes wide.

"Here's yer tea, hen. And may I just say, ye've go' a fantastic rack from this angle." Johnny hands you the mug and sits on the arm of the chair, leaning over you. "Weel. Ye've go' a nice rack from any angle. Nice arse too. Captain's lucky I like him so much, or I'd've gone for you myself."

You breathe in steam, wrinkling your nose slightly. It doesn't smell quite right. "Did you put something in this?"

"Aye. Finger of whiskey. Ye look all stiff and peaky still. Need a pick me up, don't ya?"

You look at him reproachfully. He sighs and plucks the tea from your hands and takes a big sip. "There's nothin' else in there, if that's what yer askin', ye suspicious wee daftie. A little whiskey ne'er hurt no one." He hands the mug back to you, smile crooked, doing his best to be charming, but he's too intense, too fervent, to be anything but unsettling.

“Got Johnny checkin’ everythin’ for poison, do you?” Ghost asks, chuckling. “Can’t say I blame you.” He nudges John with the back of his hand. “She’s smart, worth keepin’ an eye on that. Know’s ‘ow to ‘old ‘er tongue, but she’s listenin’ and payin’ attention.”

“Of course she is! Wouldna choose a lass withoot a brain in her head. Wouldna be worth the captain’s time. Weel, maybe worth a wee bit of time.” He winks down at you. “But no’ wife material, ye ken. Chose her because she’s delightful, no’ just ‘cause she’s bonnie.”

The few times you’d spoken to Johnny before you’d thought that he was so nice. Laughing and joking with you in the pick up line while you waited for the children you were respectively responsible, greeting his niece and nephew with big smiles. And Finn and Rory were always so excited to see him, you’d chalked him up as harmless. Clearly you hadn’t been paying enough attention then, too focused on the Kinsey kids and your job, maybe. You hadn’t noticed that he was appraising you like a piece of livestock, judging your value like you’d been put up to auction.

The whisky-fortified tea is a bit on the strong side, but you take a few sips anyway. Getting drunk would be unwise, but you’re so tense that your whole body is starting to ache, and that’s not doing you any good either.

“Dinner’s ready,” Gaz announces, untying his kiss the cook apron and setting it on the counter. “Hope you’re hungry. Soap made a cake earlier too.”

John raises an eyebrow. “You can bake?” he asks, surprised.

“Aye, picked it up while I was gettin’ rehabbed for the big fuck-off hole in my head,” he replies airily. “Was goin’ mental putterin’ around Kirsty’s waitin’ for the bairns to get out of school, so Ah picked it up. Isnae so hard. Just chemistry, aye?”

“He did make a big mess,” Gaz says. “Had to wash about fifty dishes before I could get started on dinner.”

“Everyone’s a fuckin’ critic,” Johnny complains. “See if I bake ye a cake for yer birthday, Garrick. Ye’ll be sorry then.”

“Oh no, how will I survive?” Gaz clutches his chest like he’s deeply wounded by the statement, laughing. “I have two mums, I’m still pretty much guaranteed a cake.”

“Always braggin’ abou’ that. Thinks he’s more evolved than the rest of us just because his da’s a woman.” He hovers next to you as you get up, and sticks close as you walk over to the table. You don’t choose a seat, in case there’s an order to things you’re not aware of.

“Pretty sure the whole point is that he dun’t ‘ave a dad,” Ghost says. “Now sit down, mutt. Yer not sittin’ next to the bird. You’re botherin’ ‘er.” He points at a chair, and Johnny sighs and slinks into it.

“Here, sweetheart,” John says, putting his big hand on your back to guide you the last few steps and directing you to a seat. He slides the chair in for you too, masquerading as a gentleman, and sits next to you.

Gaz settles in on your other side, all smiles. “Feeling better?”

They keep asking you how you are, as if the answer is going to change. Like all you need to adjust to the reality of being kidnapped and relocated to some stranger’s house in the country is a little time. Like you’re going to be just fine, if you just get a few more minutes to adjust. “Not really.”

"Ah, don't worry, doll. Captain's gonna be real good to you. You'll get there soon enough. Probably'll feel better once you've had a proper meal."

At least they don't try to make you talk much at the table. They fall into easy conversation between them, and let you eat roasted chicken and potatoes and carrots with some kind of sweet and mildly spicy glaze. Ghost pulls the mask down to eat, so you're able to watch when he goes slightly pink from what barely qualifies as spice. Gaz gives you a little side-long glance, and you almost laugh. There's some solidarity to be had, even in a situation like this one, something funny about how a little more spice could probably straight up kill the other three men at the table. Maybe that would be the key to you freedom: Murdering John by feeding him something full of chilies.

Admittedly, you do feel begrudgingly more charitable towards them after eating. You could maybe blame it on the tea too, which, against your better judgment, you do end up finishing.

John stops you from helping clean up when you stand automatically and try to stack Gaz's empty plate with your own. "No, sweetheart. C’mere." He guides you to the door and out into the chilly evening air. You wish that Ghost had let you put on a sweater over your summery dress, but he had been so keen to show you off, and you’d been too scared to insist. You curl your arms around yourself for warmth, and keep quiet, watching as John trims and lights a cigar, looking out into the darkness beyond the porch.

Fear has morphed from pressing terror to something that gnaws at you from the pit of your stomach. You could try to run for it, but you’d probably roll your ankle wearing the stupid red heels, and you have no real idea where you are, or how far you are from someone who could help you. Outrunning John would be a feat anyway. He’s older than you, but he’s in better shape, nearly perfect shape, broad and strong, that long military career not yet forgotten.

There’s a bench by the door, so you sit down to take the heels off. You’re not used to wearing them, it’s so rare that you have anywhere to go that calls for spicier footwear than your comfortable, worn in trainers.

“Here.” John slides his flannel shirt off and drapes it over your shoulders, and kneels down in front of you, cigar clamped in his mouth, pulling your heels off for you. Smoke curls around you for a moment, thin and blue in the scant light, before a breeze carries it away. He leans on his one leg and studies you, but he doesn’t stand. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You put your arms through the sleeves of the flannel, humming noncommittally. You know you’re pretty enough, by most standards, but you feel like his interest— And the interest of the other three— is disproportionate, too intense.

“I’d like you to stay a while, doll,” he continues. “I won’t force you, I’m not that kind of man, but I’d have a hard time letting you go back to living paycheck to paycheck in a bad nieghbourhood, workin’ for creeps that don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves. You deserve better than that.” It’s as though he doesn’t even hear his own words though, or imagines himself better, because he absently runs his hands over your calf, squeezing the tense muscle gently.

“I have to work,” you protest, biting back a moan. You didn’t need to encourage him, even if you weren’t quite brave enough (or willing) to stop him. “I have student loans, and I send money to my lola in Vigan. I can’t afford to just disappear off the face of the earth.”

He nods thoughtfully. “How much?”

"Three hundred pounds a month to Lola. I know it might not seem like a lot, but it goes a lot further there."

"And the student loans?"

"Sixteen thousand. Not that much, I worked through my degree, and I inherited a bit of money from my parents. But I still have to--"

"I'll pay for both. You'll stay until you find a good job, and a safer apartment." He says it like it's a final edict, no room for argument.

You pull your leg out of his grip, tucking both further back under the bench. "No, John, I don't want to owe you either--"

"You won't. My boys kidnapped you and disrupted your whole life. I'd pay a lot more if it keeps you from going to the police over it. Least I can do is make sure you're better off when you do leave here, hm?"

You bite your lip. Starting over with a clean slate is tempting, but you're not sure you can trust John. He seems so earnest, blue eyes clear and guileless, but he can't be much better than the other three. Unless he was just holding their leashes tight as their captain, and had to let them loose when he retired.

"Can I think about it?" you ask.

"Of course." He puts his hand on your knee to steady himself as he leans across to ash the cigar in the ashtray that sits on a little table next to the bench. "But I think you'll say yes. You're a smart girl, hm?"

You're tempted to say no, just to test weather or not he's being honest about not forcing you to stay, but there's a niggling worry in the back of your mind that the veneer of civility will evaporate if you push him on it. He's nice enough now. And maybe that niceness isn't a show, maybe he has no darker side, maybe it's all just paranoia on your part. Perhaps the worst thing about him is his predilection to protect his "boys", even though all three are clearly insane.

Military is like that, isn’t it? The whole brotherhood thing? Maybe fighting for your life beside someone changes how you see them forever.

“How long did you all serve together?” you ask. “Johnny mentioned that he was SAS before— I asked about the scar once.” You tap the side of your head, the same spot where Johnny has a nasty bullet scar.

“Long time. Hand-picked Gaz and Soap for my taskforce about ten years back. Simon and I served together longer. He’s a captain now, even if the lads still call him LT. They’re both lieutenants, and Gaz’ll be a captain himself before long. Probably would’ve been already if he’d transferred out of the 141.” He gets up with a grunt and settles onto the bench beside you. “Don’t think Simon’s long for it. He’s only still in because he wants to keep an eye on Soap. Man’s a bloody romantic. Live together or die together.”

“I didn’t realize that they were together at all.”

“The way Soap’s been droolin’ all over you, I’m not surprised.” He puffs on his cigar thoughtfully. “But Simon’s just like that, as far as I can tell. The world’s divided into three categories. Enemies, his people, and everyone else. Enemies ‘n’ everyone else can’t touch what’s his, but he’s never given a damn about Soap sleepin’ with Gaz, or me.”

“I’m not his people.”

John looks at you and shakes his head. “Course you are, doll. You’re one of our people now. They might’ve gotten a bit overzealous, bringing you here the way they did, but those lads would do anything you asked of ‘em now.”

A bit overzealous. You laugh, but the sound comes out bitter.

"Relax, doll. I know you're determined to hate them, but they're good lads. Their hearts are in the right place." He pets a big hand over your head and rests it on the back of your neck, warmth seeping into your bones, relieving some of the ache from all the tension of the day. John has a way of soothing that terrified little animal in your chest that would otherwise threaten to kick it’s way free from your ribs and flee into the dark trees. “Lookin’ out for me, in their own way. Lookin’ out for you too. If your situation was a better one, they wouldn’t’ve plucked you out of it like that.”

There’s hope in his eyes when you look up at him, hope that you’ll forgive and forget, that you’ll come around to some kind of understanding in time. His thumb brushes a sensitive spot behind your ear, sending an awful, irrefutable thrill through you.

You’re worried that he might be right.

My favourite John Price to write is the sneakiest, most charming, manipulative bastard on the planet. I definitely take a lot of inspiration from 391780 's portrayal of him. The Rear Window and Neighborly have been forefront in my mind while working on this (Largely because I think my John would have taken a similar approach if the lads hadn't jumped the gun. The Rear Window is dark, so be warned! Early writes delicious dark fics, but that may not be everyone's cup of tea, so mind the tags.)

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[anonymousewrites]

A Not-So-Disastrous Romance (Book 2) Chapter Ten

Saiki Kusuo x Reader

Chapter Ten: Fortune-Telling Transfer

Summary: Saiki and (Y/N) meet a new transfer.

            “We’ve got another transfer student! And it’s a girl!”

            (Y/N) looked around as people began to whisper excitedly at the prospect of a new student.

            “I wonder what she’ll be like,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “If we’re getting a new character, we should get rid of one of the old ones,” said Saiki, considering Toritsuka, Kuboyasu, and Saiko. “I vote Toritsuka.” (Y/N) nodded.

            “Please be seated,” said their teacher, entering the room. “I’m going to introduce our new transfer student.”

            All the boys waited expectantly, hopeful for another pretty girl.

            “Come in,” said their teacher.

            Pull it together, thought Saiki.

            “What’s up?” A girl with green hair, dramatic makeup, and barrettes stepped into the room.

            Gyaru, thought the entire room. The boys looked disappointed.

            Pretty, thought (Y/N). Not prettier than Saiki, but pretty.

            “I’m Mikoto Aiura,” said Mikoto, writing on the board. “Just call me Miko. My hobbies are fortune-telling and decorating nails.”

            “Fortune-telling? I’m into that, too,” said Yumehara, smiling.

            “Really?” Miko smiled widely. “Fortune-telling is awesome, right? What’s your name?”

            “I’m Chiyo Yumehara,” said Yumehara. “I can show you this fortune-teller who’s really good.”

            “Thanks, but you’ve got it wrong, Chiyopipi.” Miko reached into her bag and pulled out a glittery crystal ball. “I’m a fortune-teller myself.”

            “Wow,” said (Y/N), tilting their head. If she was telling the truth, that was the third psychic in the school.

            “What?”

            “Amazing!” exclaimed various people.

            In an instant, Miko became a topic of interest, and as soon as people had the chance, they crowded around her and her crystal ball to see if she was the real deal.

            “She’s really popular,” said Nendou. “Maybe I’ll have her read my fortune, too.”

            “Well, I have zero interest in this,” said Kaidou.

            “Your past actions say otherwise,” said Saiki.

            “She seems cool,” said (Y/N), interested.

            “Better to not get involved,” said Saiki. “The future is a…weird thing.”

            “I don’t care about that,” said (Y/N) cheerfully. “She just seems cool. Friendly, nice, we could use a few more people like that.”

            They’re going to make a new friend, thought Saiki. And he couldn’t stop it—not that he would. (Y/N) was allowed to do whatever they wanted in his book.

            “Chiyopipi, do you want me to check your future?” offered Miko.

            “Well…” Yumehara blushed. “What about my career?”

            “Oh, come on.” Miko laughed. “You want to know about boys, right?”

            “How did you…?” Yumehara eyes widened.

            “Go on, Chiyo, have fun,” said (Y/N) teasingly.

            “Okay,” said Yumehara nervously.

            “Let’s give this a shot!” said Miko, pulling out ink, an eraser, and a bucket of water.

            “A bucket and ink? And an eraser?” said Yumehara. “What are you going to-?”

            Miko poured some ink into the water and spun the bucket around wildly. Then, she rubbed off bits of the eraser and let them float in the water. Everyone deadpanned, and then Miko grinned and looked up.

            “Your compatibility is two percent,” said Miko.

            Yumehara’s jaw dropped open in shock and disappointment. “How could you tell that?”

            “You should give up your current crush,” said Miko, straightforward.

            “What? I don’t believe you for a second!” declared Yumehara.

            “Chiyopipi, you’ve had bad luck with boys, haven’t you?” said Miko. “Weren’t the guys you dated before trash? Broke guys or just general losers?”

            Yumehara began to sweat at the blatant truth. “I don’t believe you!” She cried and ran out of the room.

            “That was impressive,” remarked (Y/N). They whispered to Saiki, “Is she for real?” 

            “Yes,” said Saiki. “She’s no fraud. She’s a real psychic.” And that meant she could figure him out.

            “Cool,” said (Y/N).

            Saiki sighed.

            “Who’s next?” chirped Miko.

            “Do you have a minute? I have a request.” Toritsuka stepped into the classroom. He had heard about the pretty psychic girl from the ghosts around him (and he had focused on the “pretty” part). “I want to know my compatibility with you.” He held up a rose. “I’m Toritsuka from the next class.”

            “A compatibility of zero percent,” said Miko, staring him down with a deadpan look. “Who are you, anyway?”

            “Yes. My apologies.” Toritsuka deflated.

            “He should retire from the show,” said Saiki.

            “Excuse me! I have some thing to ask.” Mera stepped up to Miko.

            “What is it now?” said Miko.

            “Can you find my missing father?” asked Mera.

            “Heavy,” said Saiki.

            “Poor Mera,” said (Y/N).

            “What’s your name?” said Miko.

            “I’m Chisato Mera,” said Mera.

            “Okay, Chisapoyo,” said Miko. “I’ll find your dad.” She entwined her arms, closed her eyes, and focused. Then, she took a pencil, shaved the lead, patted it between her hands, and hit it against Toritsuka’s shirt. While he pouted, she examined the shape of the lead. “He’s in Puerto Rico. I’m off my game today. That’s all I got.”

            “That’s more than enough! I’ll check it out!” said Mera excitedly, waving and running out of the room.

            “Wow, that’s impressive!” said (Y/N). “And she helps people like you.”

            “I don’t—” Saiki sighed as (Y/N) raised a brow. He gave up.

            “What were those things you did? With the lead and the bucket?” asked a student.

            “Oh, that?” Miko shrugged. “I’m just winging it. I’m just doing things that seem like they would inspire me. All I really need is my crystal ball, but it’s hard to see through with all the accessories.”

            I have to be careful not to let her do a ritual with me, thought Saiki. And if she looks at (Y/N) at all, she may see we’re dating and expose it before we’re ready.

            “But I’m off my game today,” sighed Miko, slouching into her seat.

            “Are you sick?” asked a girl.

            “I’m pretty good at seeing people’s auras, but…”

            “Auras?” said a girl.

            “Yes, like their spiritual energy,” said Miko. “With a single glance, I can see someone’s fate or potential. But I can’t see them very well today.”

            Saiki’s jaw dropped open. (Y/N) glanced at him.

            “Kusuo?” said (Y/N).

            “She has that power?” he said. “I can’t let her look at me.”

            “Why did you transfer here, anyway?” asked a student.

            “You want to know?” Miko turned red.

            “Yes.”

            Miko laughed and twirled her hair round her finger. “I read my own fortune, and, apparently, they’re here.” She blushed happily.

            “Who?” asked another student.

            “Isn’t it obvious?” Miko grinned. “The people I’m meant to love!”

            Instantly, all the boy blushed excitedly, and the girls gasped in excitement.

            “Wow, you can find that out, too?!”

            “Amazing!”

            “Yeah, I was in great form that day.” Miko twirled her hair. “My fortune told me I was going to find people who were going to make me happier in life.”

            “Are they in our class?” said the girls.

            “Cool,” said (Y/N). They smiled. “She’s here for love.”

            “None of my business. I’m staying away,” said Saiki.

            “I don’t know much about them, but I know one has a sweet tooth and the other has pink hair and crazy abilities. Their initials are (Your Initials) and S.K,” said Miko.

            (Y/N) and Saiki froze. What?

            “Who could they be?”

            “I can figure it out through their auras,” said Miko proudly.

            “I have to do something,” said Saiki.

            “Not what I thought she’d say,” said (Y/N). “And I think she’s pretty, but she’s not my type.”

            “That’s your issue?”

            (Y/N) chuckled and shrugged.

            “I’m skipping school tomorrow,” said Saiki decisively.

            “So she can’t see your aura?” said (Y/N). Saiki nodded. “Good idea. Should I skip?”

            Saiki shrugged. “It’s your decision.”

            “We can’t avoid her forever, so I’ll go,” said (Y/N), smiling. “You shouldn’t worry so much. It’ll work itself out, I’m sure.”

            “You are way too optimistic.” It was endearing, though.

l

            Miko’s head hit the desk in exhaustion. She had tried all morning to find her soulmates, but she had found nothing so far. She had found an SK with the aura of a chihuahua and another with the aura of a rich old man, but neither were her type. And she had struggled to find people with (Your Initials). She sighed. This was growing pointless.

            “(L/N), where’s Saiki?” said Kuboyasu.

            “He wasn’t feeling well today,” said (Y/N), smiling. “Under the weather. I’m going to bring him his homework later.”

            Miko looked up. Oh yeah. Saiki Kusuo. The last SK name on my li— Her eyes widened. This aura! It’s so warm! A pink light was radiating from (Y/N), warm and comforting, drawing Miko in like the smell of fresh pastries. Sweetness radiated from them. Miko’s eyes lit up, and she grabbed her list of classmates. (L/N) (Y/N)! The initials! It has to be them!

            Instantly, she stood up to go over to them. A few blocks away, Saiki—using his clairvoyance—cursed the entire world and decided he had to go to school. If some girl was going to go and get convinced (Y/N) was her soulmate, Saiki was stepping in that. That was his partner.

            He teleported into the school hallway.

            “What happened?” exclaimed Miko, looking around herself.  “I can’t see auras again!”

            What? Saiki blinked.

            “But I haven’t confirmed anything yet! This sucks!” said Miko. “I can’t seem them at all!”

            Really? What’s with this timing? I was about to make my grand entrance, thought Saiki. His eyes widened. Wait. He teleported out and onto a nearby building.

            “What? It’s back,” said Miko, confused. “What the heck is going on?”

            So that’s what’s going on. Saiki smiled in satisfaction. I’ve figured it out. The solution is to do nothing. (Y/N) is right, it’s working itself out. She thinks she lost her ability to see auras, but that’s not really the case. My aura is too big. It has a radius of roughly two hundred meters, like my telepathy. My aura outshone everyone else’s, so she was unable to see them. So long as she can’t see me alone, from a distance, she can never— He teleported back into the school as Miko turned. Know it’s me.

            He stepped towards the classroom and looked in. (Y/N) sat at their desk, and Saiki smiled slightly. And she won’t try to flirt with (Y/N).

            “Kusuo,” said (Y/N), smiling. “I thought you were staying home today.”

            “I’m feeling better,” said Saiki. “Everything worked itself out.”

            “I told you,” said (Y/N). They paused. “So you don’t have another girl interested in you?” They grinned teasingly.

            Saiki sighed. “She saw your aura, so she thinks you’re her soulmate.”

            “Huh.” (Y/N) tilted their head. “I’m kind of flattered.” They laughed as Saiki scowled more than usual. “You get all the girls, so it’s my turn.”

            Saiki remained unamused until (Y/N) laughed. Then his gaze softened. Unfortunately, he knew Miko had a point—(Y/N) was sweet. It was unsurprising that she’d like them.

            “Don’t worry, Kusuo, I think she read her fortune wrong anyways,” said (Y/N). “People making her happier could mean anything—friendship, family, relationships.” They grinned. “I’m betting on friendship. Don’t worry, Kusuo, I’m not looking to date her.”

            Too bad for her. Saiki looked at (Y/N) fondly, lovingly. They’re mine.

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[gigiii1sblog]

DORM-ROOM DEVIL 010

Warnings: mature content, fluff, sexual content, teasing, dirty talk, unprotected sexual content.

Chapter Ten: Almost Something.

Y/N POV: Two Months Later

It’s been two months since the night I told him I loved him.

Two months since I cried in a random person room at a party with his mouth on mine and his hands in my hair, whispering that he loved me too, but still somehow made it feel like goodbye.

But it wasn’t.

Not really.

Because the next morning, he knocked on my door holding greasy pizza and a six-pack of Pepsi, like it could undo the damage. Like laughter and food and watching the ocean swallow the sun from the hood of his car could replace the ache that never quite left my chest.

And I let him.

God, I let him.

Since then, it’s been messy and soft, beautiful in ways I never expected. I’ve memorized the way he folds his pizza in half before biting it, how he sings along to Lil Skies under his breath when we drive with the windows down. We’ve danced in our dorm kitchen at 2 a.m. to whatever was playing on my phone, flour in our hair from the cinnamon rolls we forgot in the oven, our fingers sticky with sugar and heat. He taught me how to play Fortnite and cursed every time I accidentally shot him instead of the enemy. I made him watch 10 Things I Hate About You, and he pretended not to like it, but I saw the way he smiled when Kat read the poem.

We’ve kissed in every way possible. In silence. In laughter. In apology. In desperation.

We’ve made love with the lights off, with the sunrise pouring through the window, with our bodies trembling like we were finally enough.

He introduced me to his parents last weekend.

I watched his mom hug him with her whole soul, and his dad call him “kiddo” even though he towered over him. He called me his girlfriend. Looked at me like he meant it.

I brought him home too. My mom adored him. My brother’s didn’t, not at first, but Chris was patient, and polite, and even helped fix our broken back fence. Now my brother’s call him “Sturniolo” like they’re on the same team.

There was a moment.

A fleeting one.

Where I thought, maybe this is it. Maybe this time, I won’t be the one with stars in her eyes and scars on her heart.

But even in those golden hours, something about him stays locked away.

Like no matter how close I get, I’ll never get to keep him.

Because sometimes, in the quiet, after he’s kissed every inch of my skin and told me I’m his favorite thing in the world, he’ll look away like he’s ashamed. Like he’s waiting to ruin it all.

And maybe he will.

Because even now, when I say “I love you,” he says it back…but he never looks me in the eye when he does.

CHRIS POV:

It’s been two months since she told me she loved me.

Two months since she said the words I swore I didn’t deserve.

And every day since, I’ve been trying to prove that maybe, just maybe, I’m not as broken as I think.

She’s been the softest fucking thing I’ve ever touched. And the scariest.

Because she looks at me like I hung the moon, and I’m terrified I’ll drop it.

She’s met my parents. My brothers. She made my mom cry with how kind she was. My dad said she reminded him of my grandmother fiery, stubborn, smarter than everyone in the room. She’s perfect.

She’s better than me.

I’ve given her pieces of myself I never gave anyone else. Not just my bed, or my mouth, or my name in public.

I gave her Sundays.

I gave her home.

But I can’t give her all of me. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

I want to. God, I want to. But there’s a version of myself I keep buried. The part that still believes no one stays. The one that whispers that no matter how much she loves me, she’ll leave too. They always do.

So I keep her close, but not too close.

I kiss her like she’s oxygen and push her away like she’s fire.

It’s not fair. I know that.

And still—I keep holding on.

Because there’s this look she gives me when she’s half asleep, buried in my hoodie and my sheets, where her whole body softens like she finally feels safe.

And for a second, I believe I might not fuck this up.

But then I remember every time someone said “forever” and didn’t mean it.

I remember the sound of footsteps leaving.

I remember that people lie when they say they’ll stay.

So I don’t say it back the way I should.

I don’t tell her she’s the only thing in my life that feels right.

Instead, I keep pretending that if I don’t let her all the way in, it won’t hurt if she ever walks away.

Even if she’s the one thing I’d never recover from.

Y/N POV:

Today, we’re at a party.

We had argued earlier, something stupid, something sharp. Something that started as a joke and ended in silence. He made a comment about commitment. I laughed too loud, too fake. I told him I didn’t care. He said, “Good, because I never promised you anything.”

It burned more than I’d admit.

And now, hours later, we’re here.

The music’s loud, Open Arms by SZA vibrating through the walls of someone’s too-big house with a pool no one swims in. The lights are low and hazy, and everyone’s drunk enough to forget how to be careful. I’m standing near the kitchen, pretending to listen to a conversation I’m not part of, my eyes locked on him.

There he is.

Chris.

Sitting in a circle on the floor with his usual crowd, Nate’s loud laughter echoing, someone handing out shots, smoke curling through the air. And her.

A girl.

Too close.

She’s laughing at everything he says. Her hand is on his knee like it belongs there. He leans back on his elbows, completely relaxed. And when she whispers something in his ear, he smirks. That smirk. The one I used to think was just for me.

My stomach twists.

I’m wearing his jacket.

Still.

Even after the fight.

Even now.

And he hasn’t looked at me once.

⸻

I don’t realize I’m moving until I’m standing outside on the porch, gripping the wood railing like it might anchor me. My throat is tight. I don’t want to cry. I’m tired of crying over a boy who holds my heart with bloody hands.

I hear the door creak behind me. Footsteps.

I know it’s him before he speaks.

“Hey.”

I don’t turn around.

“Y/N,” he says again, quieter now, almost careful.

“Go back inside,” I murmur, “She’s probably wondering where you went.”

He exhales a laugh, humorless, dry. “Are you serious?”

I finally turn. “You were all over her, Chris.”

“We’re not doing this here,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

I laugh. “Right. Because God forbid we talk about anything real at a party. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t want to make you look like you’re taken or something. So what the fuck are we, Chris? Convenient? Conditional? A warm body until something easier comes along?”

He steps closer, eyes dark, voice low. “Don’t do that. Don’t pretend like I haven’t given you everything I could. You just wanted more.”

I laugh, sharp and bitter. “Because I love you. And you love me too. You just don’t know how to stop destroying things you care about.”

He stares at me. Silent.

Then—

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he says, voice cracking.

“But you did,” I whisper. “Over and over.”

There’s a beat of silence. And I swear the air between us shifts. Thick with the weight of everything we never said.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks finally, like he’s choking on the words.

I look at him, this boy with messy hair and tired eyes, who looks like home and heartbreak all at once.

“No,” I breathe. “I want you to stay. But only if you’re going to stop running.”

Chris doesn’t answer. His mouth parts like he might speak, but he doesn’t. He just steps forward slowly, curling his hand around my wrist and resting his forehead against mine.

“I don’t know how to do this right,” he whispers. “But I’m trying. For you.”

I nod. Barely.

But deep down, I’m not sure we’ll make it through the next time.

Because love shouldn’t feel like surviving a war every weekend.

And with Chris, it always does.

⸻

It’s always the same with him.

The silence after the fight.

The sideways glances.

That look on his face, like he’s sorry but too proud to say it, like he’s bleeding and too afraid to ask me to stitch him back together.

I told myself I wouldn’t fall for it again.

That this time, I’d lock the door, go to bed, and not answer when he knocked.

But I opened it anyway.

And there he was, hoodie pulled low, jaw clenched, eyes soft in a way that always broke me open.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

But he didn’t mean words.

He never did.

Because the second the door clicked shut, his lips were on mine — urgent, hungry, desperate in that way that said I’m sorry without ever saying it.

Hands in my hair. Fingers curling around my waist.

He kissed me like he wanted to memorize the shape of my regret.

“You drive me crazy,” he breathed, voice cracked.

“I can’t stand fighting with you.”

My back hit the wall.

He was pulling my shirt over my head.

His hands dragging down my spine like he was trying to map it, trying to remember all the places he’d hurt so he could kiss them better.

I should’ve stopped him.

But his mouth was on my neck, sucking slow bruises into my skin, grounding me and unraveling me in the same breath.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he whispered, voice shaking. “Let me take care of you.”

And he did.

He worshipped me, like if he touched me just right, I’d forget the things he didn’t say.

Like if he made me feel good enough, I’d ignore the ache still echoing in my chest.

We tumbled to the bed in pieces.

His lips were everywhere.

His hands, his voice, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that made sense.

And when he moved against me, slow and deep, I gasped, not just from the way it felt, but from the way he made me feel.

Wanted.

Claimed.

Destroyed.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned into my ear. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

I gripped his shoulders like they were the only stable thing in my life.

Tears burned in the corners of my eyes from the pressure, from the pleasure, from the part of me that hated how good it always was when he was trying to fix us like this.

Because it was always like this.

He’d mess up. I’d walk away.

He’d find me, kiss me like he was drowning, and I’d let him.

He always gave me everything physically, but only parts of himself emotionally.

And I hated how I let that be enough.

Afterward, when we were tangled in sweat and sheets, my cheek on his chest, I heard his heartbeat, loud, fast, uneven.

“I’m never good at this,” he said, quietly.

“At what?” I whispered.

“Being yours,” he answered.

And I didn’t say anything back.

Because the worst part?

He was still the only person I wanted to belong to.

Because the truth?

He loves me.

He loves me in a strange, fractured way.

A ruined kind of love, crooked at the edges, bleeding at the seams.

The kind of love that bruises when it touches you, but still makes you crave it like oxygen.

It’s not soft. It’s not safe. It’s not the kind of love you write songs about.

It’s the kind of love that rips pages out of you.

The kind that keeps you up at night replaying what he didn’t say and what you didn’t stop.

He loves me in a weird form, those that damage you, but despite everything, it’s addictive.

I think we just love differently.

He shows it in half-glances, lingering touches, in the way he stays silent but never quite leaves.

And I… I loved him with everything. I didn’t know how to ration it.

He gave me what he had left.

I gave him the only thing I had.

And now we’re just two people still trying to convince each other that what we have is enough.

That sex can substitute apologies. That lips can cover bruises.

But every time we do this, every time I let him back in, I wonder if I’m still in love…

Or if I’m just addicted to the way he makes me feel right before he ruins it all again.

CHRIS POV:

She thinks I don’t love her.

And maybe that’s on me.

Maybe that’s because I show it in all the wrong ways, hands on her hips, lips on her throat, promises whispered between sheets instead of in daylight.

I don’t know how to love soft.

I never learned.

I only know love the way I grew up seeing it loud, broken, like fists through drywall and silence that stretches days long.

So when she looks at me with those eyes like she believes in me, I panic.

Because I don’t even believe in myself.

But God, I love her.

I love the way she walks into a room and somehow makes it feel like I can breathe.

The way she fights back when I’m being a dick, calls me out on my bullshit, makes me feel like maybe I’m not just the sum of all the people who’ve left me.

I love her in a way that fucking terrifies me.

Because she could ruin me if she wanted to.

She already has, maybe. Just with that smile. With the way she whispers “okay” even when I don’t deserve it. With the way she lets me touch her like she’s made of stars and I’m just a guy with dirty hands.

I try to keep her out sometimes. Push her just far enough away to feel safe.

Because if she gets in too deep… if she really sees the parts of me I bury?

She might leave.

And if she leaves, I don’t know what the fuck I’d do.

So I fuck it up.

I say shit I don’t mean.

I pretend I don’t care.

I pretend like the sex is just sex when it’s never been just sex with her.

But when she cried that night after the party?

When she touched my arm like it was the last time?

I felt it.

Right in my chest.

Like something broke open.

And tonight when I kissed her like I needed to feel anything but guilt, and she let me?

I wanted to say it then.

Wanted to whisper, “I love you. I’m scared, but I love you.”

But I didn’t.

Because I still don’t know how.

So I let her go to sleep thinking I’m okay.

Thinking I’ll always stay like this half-in, half-out.

But I’m not.

I’m drowning in this love, and I’m too much of a coward to admit I’ve already been saved.

As an avoidant to the attached and an attached to the avoidant this hurt my soul.

@izzylovesmatt @riggysworld @amiraisafreakokaysorry @ansteeze @pair-of-pantaloons @kitty-meow-meow44@emeraldsturns @sturnslux3 @kalel2005 @sarahsturns @teheabrams @needchrissturniolobad @julessspoetry @sturniszn @slutforchrissturniolo2 @alinagrace11 @beardedbernard @matthewswifeyy

[mega-ultra-so-awesome-it-hurts]

But Please Don't Promise

GIF not mine! Credits to @abbystanaccount

MINORS DNI. THIS IS AN 18+ PAGE

pairings: abby anderson x woc reader (all my writings are for the girlies of color unless specified otherwise)

A/N: So, part 3 is finally here!!! This story is so fun and honestly so easy to write. Can't wait to see what happens next! Poor reader's getting stressed out in this chapter, and Abby... is Abby. Also, feel free to reach out to me with your guys' opinions and thoughts! My ask box is always open 😊 okay luv you guys and enjoy!

summary: The one in which you ask for bare minimum clarity, get orange-slice kisses and a Red Bull apology instead, and finally realize that being her “almost” was never going to be enough.

PART 1, 2

word count: 5,842

✩⋆.ೃ𐦍*:☾･⋆𐦍.ೃ࿔*:･✩⋆.ೃ𐦍*:☾･⋆𐦍.ೃ࿔*:･

You don't bring up the text.

You don't ask who Tori is. You don't ask how many other girls there are. You don't ask why she hasn't said anything about you to anyone, why she still introduces you as just a "friend," why she hasn't posted a single picture of you together—even though she's posted her protein shake three times this week.

Because if you ask, you might not like the answer.

And if she lies, you’ll know.

So instead, you pretend everything's fine. You curl up next to her on your couch like she’s home and not a hurricane. You let her kiss your forehead like it means something. Like she means it.

She always looks at you like she means it.

It’s the rest of the world she doesn’t answer to.

✩⋆.ೃ𐦍*:☾･⋆𐦍.ೃ࿔*:･✩⋆.ೃ𐦍*:☾･⋆𐦍.ೃ࿔*:･

You’re at her game.

Front row, behind the glass, Abby’s number taped to your cheek in glittery face paint like an idiot. She catches your eye during warm-ups and winks. You flip her off. She blows you a kiss.

Later, you’ll pretend that didn’t make your heart ricochet against your ribs like it’s trying to escape.

She scores twice.

You scream yourself hoarse.

After, in the locker room hallway, she pushes you up against the wall and kisses you so hard your knees go soft. Her hands are cold from her gloves. Her mouth tastes like orange slices and adrenaline.

You almost forget to be mad at her.

Almost.

“Wanna come back to mine?” she pants against your neck.

You hesitate.

Not because you don’t want to.

Because you do.

Because you always do.

But she notices.

Her smile falters. “What?”

You shrug. “Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

You stare at her. She’s still in her pads, chest heaving, hair messy, eyes so fucking blue.

“I’m not,” you say.

She leans in again. Slower this time. Her kiss is softer. Searching.

“I like you,” she whispers. “I don’t know how else to say it.”

You believe her.

God help you, you believe her.

Three days later, she disappears.

No texts. No calls.

You try not to panic.

You try to play it cool.

You fail, obviously.

On day four, she shows up at your apartment with a Red Bull and a half-apology.

“Practice has been brutal,” she says. “Coach is losing her mind.”

You nod. You don't mention the Instagram story you saw of her at a bar two nights ago.

With Tori.

Instead, you take the Red Bull and smile and let her stretch out across your couch like she belongs there.

She presses a kiss to your cheek and says, “Missed you.”

So you say nothing.

You don’t know what to say to that.

✩⋆.ೃ𐦍*:☾･⋆𐦍.ೃ࿔*:･✩⋆.ೃ𐦍*:☾･⋆𐦍.ೃ࿔*:･

You go to a party together.

Sort of.

She texts you the address. Says she’ll meet you there.

You get there first. She shows up an hour later with two girls hanging off her arms and a grin that makes you feel like a punchline.

“Hey,” she says, finally noticing you.

You raise an eyebrow. “Busy night?”

She laughs. “They’re just friends.”

You want to ask—am I?

But you don’t.

You just sip your drink and pretend it doesn’t burn going down.

Later, when the crowd thins, she finds you in the backyard. Pulls you into her arms. Kisses your temple.

“Don’t be mad,” she whispers.

You lean into her. “I’m not.”

You are.

You let her.

She kisses you anyway.

✩⋆.ೃ𐦍*:☾･⋆𐦍.ೃ࿔*:･✩⋆.ೃ𐦍*:☾･⋆𐦍.ೃ࿔*:･

It’s not all bad.

There are mornings she makes you pancakes, burns them, and insists the charcoal builds character. Nights she reads out loud to you from whatever weird fantasy novel she’s currently obsessed with. Evenings where she holds your hand under the table at dinner with her teammates and doesn't let go.

You start to believe again.

You start to hope.

Big mistake.

Because two weeks later, you see her at the café down the block.

With Tori.

They’re laughing. Abby’s touching her wrist. Tori’s leaning in close.

You’re across the street, holding two coffees and a knot in your stomach.

She doesn’t see you.

You go home.

Alone.

That night, she shows up at your door.

You open it, silent.

She smiles. “Missed me?”

You stare.

She frowns. “What’s wrong?”

You hold up your phone. The picture. Her and Tori. Smiling. Laughing. Her hand on her arm.

“Is this a joke to you?” you ask.

Her face drops. “What?”

“This. Us.”

“No.”

“Because it feels like one.”

She sighs. “Tori and I—she’s just—she needed someone to talk to.”

“So you held her hand over lattes?”

“It’s not what you think.”

You laugh. “Then tell me what it is.”

She opens her mouth.

Closes it.

“I don’t know,” she says.

And that? That’s worse than anything else.

Because you do.

You’ve known for a while now.

She likes you. Wants you. Maybe even loves you.

But not enough.

Never enough.

You step back. “Maybe you should go.”

“Don’t do this,” she whispers.

You meet her eyes. “Then choose me.”

Silence.

A beat.

Then another.

And she doesn’t.

A/N pt2: well well well. here we are😂 what's next, guys? let me know what you think, and as always, thank you sooo much for reading 🫶🏾

-Z

[leaderwon]

CHAPTER 13 — SOMEWHERE BETWEEN HEALING AND CHAOS.

wc — 1.4k+

prev — masterlist — next

The message from Stella stayed on your screen for a while. You weren’t sure why you kept rereading it. Maybe because it was the first text in days that didn’t feel like a minefield. There were no loaded pauses, no unspoken expectations, just genuine warmth and an open door. You typed your reply before you could overthink it.

[YOU]: I’ll be there.

The second you hit send, you felt it — a tiny breath of relief, like you were letting yourself step out of the mess, even just for a moment. You needed this. You needed something that wasn’t tied to a letter or a boy or the wreckage of feelings you couldn’t sort out yet.

Friday came faster than expected. Lia helped you get ready, like she always did, blasting music, curling your hair, and offering her entire closet like it was your birthright. She held up two dresses, dramatically posing with each. “This one says I’m healing and glowing,” she said, holding up the white one. “And this one says look what you lost, dumbass.” You took the second one. Lia smirked. “Good girl.”

The party wasn’t far, just a short walk off campus. The house was already buzzing when you arrived, lights spilling out of the windows, bass pulsing through the walls, and the scent of cheap beer and better perfume lingering in the air. Stella spotted you almost immediately. “There you are!” she beamed, pulling you into a hug before linking her arm through yours. “You look amazing. Everyone’s inside, come, I’ll introduce you.”

Inside, the crowd was a mix of familiar faces and strangers. You caught glimpses of people from your classes, others you’d only seen in passing. It should’ve felt overwhelming, but Stella was magnetic in that effortless way, dragging you from group to group and making it impossible to feel out of place.

“This is Mia,” she said, nudging a girl with dyed pink tips and an infectious laugh. “And that’s Chaeryeong. She’ll probably pull you into a dance battle later.” Chaeryeong grinned, already bobbing her head to the music. “You’ve been warned.” You laughed, genuinely this time. It was easy around them. Light. Like you could finally exhale without worrying someone would dissect your every move.

For a while, you let yourself have fun. You danced with Mia, took shots with Stella, and let Chaeryeong drag you into a ridiculous TikTok challenge. Somewhere along the way, your phone buzzed a few times in your pocket, but you ignored it. Tonight wasn’t about them. You deserved this sliver of chaos that didn’t revolve around heartbreak.

But chaos had a way of finding you anyway. Because of course, fate or whatever twisted cosmic humor existed decided this was the perfect time to bring them in. You didn’t notice them at first. Not until Mia leaned toward you, mid conversation, and said, “Hey… aren’t those the guys from the cafe?”

You turned. And there they were. Jay. Sunghoon. Jake. Walking in like they belonged to the night, like the universe hadn’t just taken your entire emotional stability and tossed it into a blender. Jay was laughing at something Sunghoon said, and Jake trailed behind them, eyes scanning the room absently.

You froze. Lia, who’d arrived just a few minutes before, caught your expression and followed your gaze. “Oh,” she muttered. “Plot twist.” “No,” you whispered. “Plot repetition.” “They probably weren’t expecting to see you either,” Lia added, tone unreadable.

But you didn’t reply. Because Jake’s eyes had just landed on you. And he stopped walking. For a second, everything blurred, the music, the lights, the voices around you. You could only see him, standing there with a dozen feet between you, wearing that same damn hoodie, looking like he wasn’t sure whether to say something or pretend he hadn’t seen you at all.

You turned away first. Because you weren’t going to let this night turn into another emotional spiral. Stella grabbed your hand. “You okay?” You nodded. “Yeah. Let’s dance.” And you meant it. Even if your heart was thudding in your chest. Even if you could still feel Jake’s eyes on your back. Even if this night, this chance to escape, was suddenly on the edge of becoming something else entirely.

Later, when the music was quieter and you’d slipped out onto the balcony to catch your breath, you found yourself standing alone again, drink in hand, staring at the stars like they owed you some sort of clarity.

“You always disappear when things get loud.”

You turned. Jake.

Of course.

You took a sip, steadying yourself. “And you always find me when I do.” “I wasn’t trying to.” “You always say that.”

He moved beside you, close but not too close. “You looked like you were having fun.” “I was.” “You looked happy.” You didn’t answer that. Because happiness felt like a fragile thing lately. Something you could hold for a minute but never quite keep.

Jake sighed. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” “I didn’t come for you.” “I know.”

Silence again. But this time, it didn’t feel so heavy. Just… inevitable.

“You still mad at me?” he asked after a moment. You exhaled slowly. “I’m not mad. I’m just tired.” “I get that.” “I’m just trying to figure out how to exist without constantly feeling like I’m walking through emotional landmines.” Jake nodded, leaning on the balcony railing beside you. “You don’t have to figure it out alone.” You looked at him sideways. “Don’t I?”

He didn’t respond right away. Just stared out into the night, jaw tight like he was swallowing every word that wanted to spill out. “I messed up,” he finally said. “I know that.”

You didn’t interrupt. You didn’t soften. You let him say it.

“I let other people shape the way I saw you,” Jake continued, voice lower now, like it was meant only for you and the stars. “I should’ve known better. I did know better.” You stared down at your drink. “Then why didn’t you act like it?” Jake let out a breath, a bitter one. “Because I was scared. Because it was easier to pretend I was neutral than admit I cared too much.”

That got your attention.

You turned to him fully. “Cared?” He glanced at you, and for a second, you saw it — all the things he hadn’t said yet, sitting heavy behind his eyes. “You think I didn’t?” he asked softly. “Even before the letters… I was already in too deep.”

Your heart stuttered. “Jake…”

“I know it doesn’t fix anything. I just- I needed you to hear it. Once.” You weren’t sure what to say. Part of you wanted to believe him. Another part didn’t know if it mattered anymore.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you admitted. “This back and forth. This weird in between where I don’t know if we’re talking or healing or just setting ourselves up to crash again.” “I’m not asking you to fix things overnight,” he said gently. “But I’m here. If you want to try.”

You didn’t respond. Not yet. Because if you let yourself speak now, you weren’t sure what would come out — anger, longing, hope, or all of it tangled into one breathless mess.

So instead, you turned back toward the stars. Jake stood beside you in silence. And for once, it was enough. But you both knew nothing was over. Not yet. Not even close.

Inside, the party was still alive, louder, messier, brighter. And when you stepped back in, Lia caught your expression and gave you a look. A knowing one. “You good?” she asked as you reached her side. “Yeah,” you said, voice steadier now. “Just needed air.”

Stella grinned. “Well, you came back just in time. Chaeryeong’s about to drag us into some wild game.” “What kind of game?” “Something with dares and way too much tequila,” Mia chimed in.

Lia leaned close and whispered, “There’s a good chance Jay’s going to end up shirtless.” You choked on your drink. “What?!”

She just smirked.

And sure enough, when you looked across the room, Jay was already surrounded by a crowd, sleeves rolled up, eyes alight with mischief. Sunghoon stood a few feet away, drink in hand, watching it all unfold with his usual unreadable expression. But you could feel his gaze flicker to you more than once.

You weren’t sure what tonight was turning into anymore. But you had a feeling things were about to get a whole lot messier.

And for better or worse, you were right in the middle of it.

© @leaderwon 2025. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[justageekk]

IN WHERE: désiré falls in love with the new physical therapist

THIS ONE SHOT IS: fem!reader x désiré doué

SHORT FANFIC: part two … (fifteen chapters)

n: i don't speak english, only spanish n a little portuguese. any errors are the translator's fault.

w: none!

request open!

PARIS, FRANCE

PSG Campus, Poissy – 08:36 AM

It’s your first day as a physiotherapist for Paris Saint-Germain and, to be honest, you have no idea what you’re doing here. The December cold hit your face the moment you stepped into the campus facilities.

You took a moment to breathe as a staff member escorted you to the training field. The walls were white with the club logo everywhere, the floor shining from how clean it was, and large windows at the end revealed the grass of the pitch in the distance.

“Have you worked in an environment like this before?”, the technician asked, glancing sideways at you.

“Well, I’ve worked in hospitals and clinics, but never with a team like this”, you answered, trying to sound confident, even though anxiety was creeping in. You knew this wasn’t just any job—expectations here were way higher.

The technician nodded slowly. “I figured. The level here is different, and not just because of the players—it’s everything that comes with being part of this club. It’s not like treating an ordinary patient.”

You shrugged with a slightly nervous smile. “That doesn’t scare me. I’m here to give my best. I’m good at what I do”, you tried to convince him.

He stared at you for a moment, as if analyzing your words. Then, suddenly, his expression softened and he offered a handshake. “I like your attitude. You’ll need it here. Not everything’s going to be easy, but I trust you’ll handle it.”

Nervously, you accepted the handshake. “Thanks, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Perfect. Now, let’s introduce you to the team”, he said, patting your shoulder as he opened one of the windows leading to the field. A gust of cold air rushed in, along with the sound of cleats on the grass and voices floating between laughter, shouts, and commands.

You followed him with slightly awkward steps along the edge of the pitch. Players were scattered around—some stretching, others jogging. But as soon as the technician blew a short whistle, everything stopped.

“Guys! One second please”, he raised his voice, turning briefly toward you. “Before we continue the session, I want you to meet someone.”

You stood beside him, feeling all eyes fall on you at once. The players gathered in a loose formation. Some looked at you curiously, others barely paid attention, and one in particular stayed in the back with his arms behind his back, staring at you without subtlety.

“She’s the new team physiotherapist. From today on, she’ll be working with us, so if you’ve got any complaints, now you know who to talk to. Her name is… well, better she introduces herself.”

It caught you off guard, but you had no choice but to step forward. Your heart pounded in your neck, but you tried to keep your tone steady.

“Hi… I’m Y/n L/n”, you said with a slightly shy smile. “I’m a physiotherapist, and I just left a clinic pretty close to here. I’ve been working with all kinds of patients for a while now, although… none with legs worth millions”, you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

A few players let out soft chuckles, which helped you relax a little.

“I’m 18, yeah, I know I’m probably younger than most of you, but I swear I know what I’m doing. I love what I do, and I’m here to help you all stay at 100%—no excuses, no avoidable injuries. So please, don’t wait until you’re limping to talk to me.”

You ended with a half-laugh and a smile, and noticed some of the players no longer looked at you with that mix of doubt and suspicion. Even the technician gave you an approving nod.

A brief silence followed until the guy in the back—Désiré Doué—raised his hand and asked:

“So, do you know how to give massages that don’t hurt?”

Laughter broke out among the players, and Vitinha added:

“What if we say everything hurts? Can we use that as an excuse to skip training?”

Bradley Barcola chimed in from the back with a grin:

“Do you have experience with guys who fake injuries every week?”

You tried to stay composed and replied with a smile. “I can perfectly tell the difference between a real injury and an attempt to skip training. So if you’re planning on being clever, forget it.”

The laughs grew louder, and you felt the ice begin to break even more. “Also,” you added, “I do know how to give pain-free massages… but only if I like you.”

Most of them burst into laughter, a few playfully nudging each other. The atmosphere didn’t feel as tense anymore. Even the technician was smiling.

The first time you had to act was after the match against Salzburg. As part of the team, you traveled with them to the Red Bull Arena.

And after the victory, you had to give massages to some of the players.

At the hotel, the staff organized post-match recovery sessions. Each physiotherapist received a list with three names to treat that night.

Your hands trembled slightly as you unfolded the paper and saw your assignments:

Nuno Mendes. Lee Kang-in. Désiré Doué.

You read the names over and over like they were part of an exam you had to memorize. There was a slight pressure in your chest—not from lack of preparation, but from that unavoidable feeling that comes with the first real step into something big. You were new, and even though you’d already had brief interactions with some players, this was your first time actually touching them… professionally.

Alright. You took a deep breath, clenched the paper in your fingers, and got to work.

The only one you really had a conversation with was Nuno, the first on your list. He greeted you with a warm smile as soon as you walked into the massage room.

“First day on the job?”, he asked like the answer wasn’t obvious, lying down on the table.

You nodded with a small nervous laugh. “Yeah. You’re my first Champions League client”, you joked, trying to break the ice while preparing the oil and your hands.

Nuno chuckled.

“What an honor, huh. Hope you don’t leave me worse than I came in.”

“Don’t worry”, you said, smiling as you started working on his tight calves. “I studied for this. But if you complain too much, I do reserve the right to ignore you.”

That made him laugh for real. From there, the conversation flowed more easily. He talked a bit about the match, about the pressure of the tournament, and how great it was to win away from home. You nodded, listened, asked just enough. You kept the balance between professional and human—neither too distant nor too familiar.

When you finished, he thanked you with a hug and even gave you a piece of advice:

“Relax. If all your massages are like this, you’ll win over the locker room in no time.”

“Thanks”, you replied with a smile.

With Lee Kang-in, it was quieter. He greeted you with a nod, thanked you when you finished, but you didn’t exchange much more beyond what was necessary.

Désiré was the last one of the night.

And not just the last on the list—literally the last to show up. You had started packing your things, thinking you were done since he hadn’t arrived. Until you heard someone slowly opening the door.

“Still time for an appointment or am I too late?”, he asked, peeking half his body inside.

You looked up and saw him leaning against the doorframe, clearly exhausted. You recognized the pose instantly. You knew what it meant: tense muscles, sore legs, neck stiff as stone. He needed the massage more than anyone.

“If you bring me a coffee, maybe I’ll squeeze you in”, you joked, already setting up the table again.

Désiré let out a soft laugh as he walked in.

The tall guy took off his shirt and tossed it into a corner. “Do you always ask for bribes?”, he asked while stretching his arms.

“Only from those who show up late”, you replied, patting the table. “Come on, lie down. You’re here now, so let’s take advantage before my hands get tired.”

He obeyed without another word, lying on his stomach and resting his head on crossed arms. The silence didn’t last long. Thanks to Nuno, you had managed to connect your phone to the room speaker and play calming music, which helped soothe your nerves and made the atmosphere more pleasant.

Your almond oil-covered hands found the tense areas with ease, and he let out a small sigh at the first touch, as if he’d been waiting hours for that relief.

“You okay?”, you asked, making sure you weren’t using too much pressure.

“Yeah, very good”, he replied, voice raspy with exhaustion. “You’ve got strong hands. Didn’t expect that.”

“Was that a compliment or a complaint?”

“A bit of both”, he joked, turning his head slightly to glance at you from the corner of his eye.

Your eyes met for a second, and you instantly looked away, nerves sparking at the eye contact.

A half-sleepy smile appeared on his lips before he closed his eyes again. The rest of the massage passed with a few casual exchanges—some jokes, small talk about the trip or hotel dinner. Nothing deep, but enough to feel a tiny spark of trust. He wasn’t cold or arrogant, and you liked that.

When you finished, you noticed his breathing had become slow and steady. His eyes remained closed, his face finally relaxed for the first time all night, and his arms hung limp off the table. Désiré had fallen fast asleep.

You stood still for a few seconds, silent, just watching. It was funny… in a place where everyone was constantly moving, loud, and alert, he had allowed himself to disconnect. To trust enough to fall asleep, even if just for a little while.

You moved quietly, packing your things.

You leaned on the desk for a second, arms crossed, still watching him with a tiny smile.

“Hey, Désiré…”, you murmured softly, still holding a towel, eyes fixed on him.

No reply. Just the soft sound of his breathing, steady, like the weight of the whole day had fallen away the moment your hands left his muscles.

He let out a faint puff, tilting his face slightly as if his body wanted to be sure it wasn’t time to wake up yet.

He was too comfortable, but unfortunately, you had to break his sleep.

You stepped closer, this time without the earlier hesitation.

“Désiré…”, you repeated, a bit more firmly, and gave his shoulder a light tap.

Nothing.

You pressed your lips together, stifling a laugh. Was he really that asleep?

You tried again, giving him a little nudge with your fingers.

“Hey, we’re done. You can’t stay here all night.”

You only got another sigh and a mumbled something you couldn’t tell if it was French, sleep talk, or just a refusal to move.

You blinked, crossing your arms with a raised brow, expecting a reaction… but nothing. Still the same: closed eyes, peaceful expression, body surrendered to the table.

You sighed with a small smile, gently shaking your head.

“Don’t do this to me… I don’t want them saying I abandoned you here.”

You hesitated but finally reached out again, tapping his shoulder a few more times.

“Désiré…”, you called out more clearly. “Come on, luxury nap time’s over. Time to go.”

He frowned and let out a protesting sigh. He didn’t open his eyes, but his lips curled a little, like he’d heard your voice and was enjoying making you wait.

“Don’t pretend to be asleep”, you added with a hint of playfulness, pushing his shoulder a bit more firmly. “If you don’t get up, I’m getting cold water. And I’m not joking.”

That threat seemed to work. Désiré clicked his tongue lazily and finally cracked his eyes open, staring up with that typical disoriented post-nap look.

“We done already?” he murmured, voice still rough from sleep.

“Long ago. You passed out like this was a five-star spa”, you replied. “Come on, lazy. I’m not carrying you to your room.”

He smirked, still not moving much.

“I just wanted to stay a bit longer… you’re really good at this.”

Heat shot straight to your face.

Your cheeks burned without warning, as if someone had cranked up the heat in the room. You blinked a couple times, avoiding his eyes in case it made things worse, and just looked down at your own hands, suddenly unsure of where to put them.

“Thanks…”, you murmured quietly.

It wasn’t the first time someone praised your work. But there was something about the way he said it.

Maybe it was his sleepy smile. Or the fact that he said it right after falling asleep there, with you.

And that threw you off just a little more.

“I mean it”, he added, now sitting at the edge of the table, rubbing his neck with one hand. “It was… relaxing. Like my body shut down on its own.”

Your lips curled into a small smile, trying to stay composed even as the blush still warmed your cheeks.

“Well, I don’t usually leave people unconscious. But I guess that’s a good sign.”

Désiré let out a soft laugh. “Definitely is”, he said, stretching a little as he stood up slowly, feet hitting the floor without rush. He walked over to where his shirt lay and started getting dressed. “I better go before I lie back down.”

You laughed and turned around to grab your bag from the desk, along with your phone that was still playing music through the speakers.

“So… see you”, he said as he finished putting on his shirt.

You nodded, still smiling softly.

“See you.”

And just like that, you watched him leave the room. He opened the door calmly, and right before disappearing down the hallway, he raised a hand in a brief wave. Then, he was gone.

© justageekk, 2025.

[luvfae]

BAD INVESTMENT

PART TWENTY FIVE

summary: moving in with thanos was easy—his place became a home, filled with warmth and you. he asked, you said yes. friends accepted him, family hesitated, but love won. unlike myung-gi, he didn’t own you. he cherished you. and that was all that mattered.

parings: thanos/choi su bong x f!reader, lee myung gi x f!reader

warnings: mention of violence

bad investment masterlist

a/n: there’s only one more chapter left of this story :(

“You can take me to my eomma’s house,” you said, shutting the trunk after loading the last of your things into Thanos’ car. “May as well break the news to my parents that Myung-Gi and I are over. She’ll be thrilled—she never wanted me to move out in the first place.”

Thanos leaned against the car, arms crossed as he watched you. “Or,” he said, tilting his head, “you could move in with me.”

You froze for half a second before turning to face him fully. “You want me to move in?” You tried to keep your voice even, but the giddy little laugh that bubbled up gave you away.

“Yeah,” he said, like it was the easiest decision he’d ever made. “I know this is fast, but I don’t give a shit. I like having you around. I want to share my space with you.”

You let out a slow exhale, pretending to think it over, but the truth was you already knew your answer.

Then you shrugged. “Alright. Fuck it.”

A slow grin spread across his face. “Fuck it?”

“Fuck it,” you repeated, biting back a smile.

Thanos grabbed your face, kissing you hard, laughing against your lips. “That’s my girl.”

Thanos took you to his apartment that night, helping you move your things into his space. His wardrobe, once sparsely filled, was now split in two—your side and his side. His bathroom, once home to just a lonely bottle of cologne and a razor, was suddenly stocked with expensive skincare, which he shamelessly helped himself to.

As the weeks passed, the apartment transformed. What was once cold and impersonal became warm and lived-in. The blank walls now held photos of the two of you—snapshots of late nights, drunken adventures, and lazy mornings. Candles lined every surface, filling the place with soft, comforting scents. A rug appeared near the couch, making the space feel cozier. Even his cupboards, once filled with nothing but ramen and energy drinks, now held actual food.

He liked it. He liked the way his apartment felt with you in it, how it no longer felt like just a place he lived, but a home.

And he wanted to do this right. He wanted to make it official.

So he took you on a proper date, got you flowers, and asked you to be his girlfriend like a gentleman. And of course, you said yes—because you loved him.

You introduced him to your friends first. They were wary at first—he was nothing like Myung-Gi, and that alone made them hesitant. But when you told them what had really happened, how Thanos had beaten the shit out of Myung-Gi for what he did to you, they started to warm up to him. By the end of the night, they liked him.

Then he introduced you to his friends. Your favorite was Nam-Gyu, a chaotic menace who teased Thanos relentlessly for “going soft.” He’d tell you embarrassing stories about Thanos—things Thanos would groan and threaten to kill him for—but the second you started laughing, he’d join in. And when Thanos saw how much you enjoyed it, he’d stop protesting altogether.

Months passed, and you were finally ready for the biggest step yet: introducing him to your family.

They knew you and Myung-Gi had broken up, but they didn’t know you had moved on. And definitely not with someone like Thanos.

Your mother was an easy win—she had a heart big enough for the whole world, and from the moment she met Thanos, she hugged him like he was already family. She doted on him, fed him too much, and called him ‘son’ by the end of the night.

Your father was different. He took one look at Thanos—his tattoos, his purple hair, the devil-may-care attitude—and barely hid his disapproval. He was skeptical, stiff, watching the two of you with sharp eyes. But as the night went on, as he saw the way Thanos treated you, how easily he made you laugh, how happy you were… he started to soften.

And eventually, he warmed up to him too.

Because Thanos made you happy. He treated you the way you had always wanted to be treated—not like a possession, not like a prize, but like a person.

Like you were the only girl in the world.

Then, you met his family—which, considering Myung-Gi’s family had absolutely despised you, was easily the most nerve-wracking thing to date.

But Thanos’ family? They loved you.

His mother was the first to win you over, bombarding you with a million and one questions, listening intently to every answer. She was warm, affectionate, and utterly smitten with you. “How on earth did you end up with my son?” she teased, ruffling Thanos’ hair. “Don’t stuff it up.”

His father was a bit of an oddball, definitely a borderline alcoholic, but he meant well. He was the one to whip out the family albums, grinning as he showed you every embarrassing baby picture of Thanos he could find.

His sister adored you. She’d pull you aside constantly, whispering about how relieved she was that Thanos had found someone normal to be with. “I always thought he’d end up alone, or worse—dating some complete psycho,” she’d laugh.

Being with Thanos was easy. Effortless.

There were no games, no overthinking, no second-guessing.

He loved you.

You loved him.

And that was all that mattered.

[layce2015]

Stranger Things (Steve Harrington x Female!Reader)

Chapter 4: Dig Dug

Previous Chapter/ Next Chapter

*3rd Person POV*

The next day in gym class, the boys were playing basketball again, skins vs shirts again. Once again, Steve was part of the shirts and Billy was part of the skins. The coach blows on his whistle as the boys start on another play. “Let's go. Pass it up now. Get open!” The coach yells as a player tries to throw it to Steve but Billy was able to maneuver around Steve and catches the ball.

“All right! All right, all right!” Billy laughs as he dribbles and Steve turns to him. “King Steve. King Steve, everyone. I like it. Playing tough today.” Billy exclaims. “Jesus! Do you ever stop talking? Come on!” Steve said, annoyed. “What? You afraid the coach is gonna bench you now that I'm here? Huh?” Billy asked then he shoulder charges at Steve, knocking him down.

Steve falls on his back with a grunt as Billy jumps up and shoots the ball in the hoop. Billy then walks over to Steve and holds his hand out to him, Steve takes it but Billy leans into him. “You were moving your feet. Plant them next time, draw a charge.” Billy tells him and he shoves Steve down then walks away.

Later, the boys head to the showers and Billy looks over at Steve. “Don't sweat it, Harrington. Today's just not your day, man.” Billy tells him while Steve tries to ignore him. “Yeah. Not your week. You and the princess break up for one day, she's running off with the freak's brother.” Tommy, Steve’s former friend, said and he chuckles but noticed the confused look on Steve’s face.

“Oh, shit. You don't know. Jonathan and the princess skipped yesterday. Still haven't shown. But that must just be a coincidence, right?” Tommy asked, smiling widely, then he shuts his shower head off and laughs as he grabs his towel and walks off.

“Don't take it too hard, man. A pretty boy like you has got nothing to worry about. Plenty of bitches in the sea. Am I right?” Billy said and he turns Steve’s shower head off then slaps his shoulder. “I'll be sure to leave you some.” Billy said as he starts to walk away but stops and turns to Steve. “Or I can introduce you to my sister.” Billy said and Steve glares over at him. “You’ve probably seen her around. Yea high, (h/c) hair. Back in California, she had a lot of guys following her around. You know why? Cause she was easy. She’ll spread her legs for anyone, even you.” Billy said then he chuckles as he walks off while Steve scoffs.

*(y/n)’s POV*

Robin and I were sitting in the library, working on some school work and talking and getting to know each other. “You hear about that Terminator movie that just came out? I’ve been hearing nothing but good things. I was thinking maybe we could go see it tonight.” I suggest but Robin doesn’t respond and I turn my head to her to see her staring at this girl from across the library.

”Hey, earth to Robin!” I said as I pat her shoulder, and she snaps out of it and looks at me. “Wh-Wh-What?” She asked me and I chuckled. “I’ve been talking to you and you’ve been ignoring me.” I said and Robin looks down, embarrassed. “I-I-I’m sorry.” She stammers and I look over at the girl she was staring at.

”Who’s that?” I asked her and Robin bites her lips. “Her name is Tammy. We, uh…we used to be…friends but we just…drifted apart is all.” She said and I raise an eyebrow at this. Something was telling me that she was lying but I don’t know her well enough to push it. And like I’ve said, I do like her and I don’t want to ruin the building friendship we’ve got.

”Anyway, what were you asking?” Robin asked me and I tell her what I said. She agreed and we got back to doing our homework.

Later, Billy and I were waiting by his car again when I notice Max walking out of the school, Lucas not far behind her. She turns to him and it seemed like the two of them were arguing about something. “Who the hell is that?” Billy asked me and I play dumb as I shrug. “Maybe one of her classmates?” I said but Billy didn’t seem satisfied with my answer.

“Don’t play dumb with me, she talks to you the most. Who is he?” He asked and I look over at him. “I told you, I don’t know.” I said to him, firmly, then I look back over to Max as I see her skateboarding her way over to us. “That kid you were talking to, who is he?” Billy asked as he heads to the driver’s side and I open the passenger door and fix up the seat.

“Why was he talking to you?” Billy asked Max. “It was just about a stupid class assignment.” Max said. “Then why're you so upset?” Billy asked her. “I'm not!” Max exclaimed. “He causing you trouble?” Billy asked her. “Why do you care?” Max asked him. “Because, Max, you're a piece of shit, but we're family now whether we like it or not, meaning I'm stuck looking out for you and your sister.” He said and I scoff.

“What would we ever do without...” Max said, sarcastically, but Billy turns to her, reaches out and grabs her arm. “Hey! This is serious shit, okay?” He growls and I grab at his hand that had ahold of Max. “Hey, let her go!” I said then Billy turns his head, sharply, to me. “Shut up!” He shouts then he looks between me and Max. “I'm older than both of you.” He said and I scoff again. “Not by much.” I grumbled then with one quick movement, Billy backhands me with his other hand.

My head turn as I felt the sting of the slap and I place my hand on my cheek, my eyes watering at this. “I told you to shut up! Now listen! Something you two need to learn is that there are a certain type of people in this world that you stay away from…” he said as I turn my head to face him, glaring at him. He then looks at Max. “…and that kid, Max...That kid is one of them. You stay away from him, you hear me? Stay away.” Billy tells her then he lets her arm go then faces forward and begins to drive off.

That evening, I was sitting in my room, working on some homework, when I hear a knock on my door. “It’s open.” I said and I hear the door open. I look up and see it is Max. “Hey. What’s going on?” I asked her as she shuts the door behind her. “I just wanted to check on you.” She tells me, softly, and I smile, appreciatively, to her. “I’m okay. It stopped stinging couple hours ago.” I said as I run my fingers across the cheek Billy slapped earlier.

”I hate it when he hurts you.” Max mutters and I look up at her. “As long as he doesn’t hurt you, I’m fine with it.” I said and Max frowns at me. “Anyway, what were you and Lucas arguing about?” I asked her, changing the subject. She rolls her eyes and sighs. “I don’t know. Those guys are just pissing me off.” She said and she sits down next to me on my bed.

”Why?” I asked her. “Well, they begged me to go with them trick or treating and they act like they want to be friend but then…when something serious or interesting seems to be happening, they push me away.” She said and I give her a sympathetic look. “Oh, Max, I’m sorry.” I said to her as I place a hand on her shoulder. 

“Why do boys have to be so weird and stupid?” She asked me and I chuckled a bit. “Well, I guess that they miss their friend and they’re trying to adjust without.” I suggested and Max sighs. “Yeah, maybe. Still annoying and dumb.” She mumbles. “I know.” I said. “I miss Nate.” Max said and I frown a bit, remembering that Nate and Max’s relationship started to strain after Billy broke Nate’s arm. And it was one of the big reasons we moved here to Hawkins.

”Yeah, I miss my friends too.” I said before I let out a heavy sigh. I didn’t have a whole lot but I did have a few friends, most of them were guys as I felt like I got along with guys better than girls. Mainly cause most girls back at my old school in California were bitches.

I think for a moment then get an idea. “How about you and I go to the arcade tomorrow and just spend the day, just you and me.” I said and she smiles and nods. “Sounds good.” She said and I pat her shoulder.

The next morning, I borrow Mom’s car to take me and Max to the arcade as I really didn’t want to bother Billy, the less time around him the better. We pull up to the arcade and I put the car in park as Max unbuckles her seatbelt. “I’m so gonna kick your ass.” Max said as we start to get out of the car. “Oh, really?” I laughed as we enter the arcade.

We get inside and head towards the Dig Dug game but saw a sign on it that said Out of Order. “Seriously?!” Max asked, annoyed. “Sorry about that, Road Warrior.” a voice said and I look over to see the employee, who just eats out of his chip bag.

“What happened?” Max asked him. “Short circuit in the motherboard. A real bummer. But fret not. I got another machine up and running in the back.” The guy said and Max and I share a look before we go to follow the guy to the back. We get to the back door and the guy holds his chip back to me. “Hold these.” He tells me and I do and he opens the door and Max and I enter the room, only to see Lucas.

“You better get me that date now, Sinclair.” The guy tells Lucas. “I told you I would.” Lucas assures and the guy grunts the shuts the door behind me and Max after he takes his chip bag out of my hands.

“What is this shit, stalker?” Max asked Lucas, angrily. “Sorry. I just needed a safe place.” Lucas said. “A safe place to what? Be creepy?” Max asked him and I place a hand on her shoulder and she looks up at me. “Listen. I'm gonna tell you the truth about everything that happened last year. But if anyone finds out, you could be arrested. Possibly killed.” Lucas said and Max and I share a look of disbelief.

“Killed?” We asked. “What do you mean?” I asked him. “I need to know. Do you guys accept the risk?” He asked us. “Oh, my God! This...this is so stupid.” Max grumbled as she paces around. “Do you accept the risk?” Lucas asked again. Max and I share a look before we sighed. “Yeah. Sure. Fine. We accept the risk.” Max said as we find a couple of chairs and sit down in them. 

“Let's hear it.” I said and Lucas takes a chair across from us before he takes in a deep breath then looks back at us. “Last year...Will didn't get lost in the woods. He got lost somewhere else.” Lucas said and Max and I stare at him, confused, as Lucas continues.

*3rd Person POV*

Dustin had been trying all day to get ahold of his friends but nobody was picking up. He had a code red situation, which is that Dart is a Demogorgon. But nobody would answer his call. Well, Erica answers for Lucas only for her to tell Dustin to shut up as she constantly heard him shout for his friends through the walkie-talkie.

Dustin then made his way to Mike’s house and knocked on the door. Ted Wheeler answers the door. “Your line has been busy for over two hours, Mr. Wheeler. Do you realize this?” Dustin said. “Oh, I do realize.” Ted said. “Is Mike home?” Dustin asked him. “No.” Ted replied, quickly.

“No? Well, where the hell is he?” Dustin asked. “Karen, where's our son?” Ted calls out to his wife, who was the one holding up the phone line as she talks to her friend. “Will's!” She shouts. “Will's.” Ted tells Dustin, who sighs. “No one's picking up there. Nancy. What about Nancy?” Dustin asked him. 

“Karen, where's Nancy?” Ted called out to his wife. “Ally's!” Karen replied and Ted turns to Dustin. “Ally's.” Ted tells him. “Our children don't live here anymore. You didn't know that?” He adds.

“Seriously?” Dustin asked. “Am I done here?” Ted asked, annoyed, and Dustin scoffs. “Son of a bitch. You're really no help at all, you know that?” He said and he walks off. “Hey! Language.” Ted calls out after him before he shuts the door and Dustin walks back to his bike, only to see Steve pulling up to the side of the road in front of Mike’s house.

He gets out with a bouquet of flowers in his hand as he heads to Mike’s house. “Listen...I've been thinking...I love you. I'm sorry.” Steve mutters to himself then thinks. “I'm sorry? What the hell am I sorry for?” He asked and Dustin goes up to him.

“Steve. Are those for Mr. or Mrs. Wheeler?” Dustin asked him as he gestures to the flowers. “No.” Steve said as he turns to Dustin. “Good.” Dustin said and he grabs the flowers out of his hands and heads back to Steve’s car. “Hey. What the hell? Hey!” Steve shouts after him.

“Nancy isn't home.” Dustin said. “Where is she?” Steve asked him as Dustin gets to the passenger door. “Doesn't matter. We have bigger problems than your love life.” Dustin said then he turns to Steve. “Do you still have that bat?” He asked. “Bat? What bat?” Steve asked, confused. “The one with the nails?” Dustin said.

“Why?” Steve asked him. “I'll explain it on the way.” Dustin said as he opens the passenger door, tosses the flowers inside and gets in the seat. “Now?” Steve asked, exasperated. “Now!” Dustin shouts and Steve heads back over to the driver’s seat.

*(y/n)’s POV*

“And that was the last we ever saw of her. After that, she was just gone. I can't believe it's been that long. Feels like yesterday.” Lucas said, ending his story. Honestly, I don’t know if this is true or he has a great imagination. “Yeah. I mean, I bet.” Max said. “Wow.” I said. “It's crazy. I know.” Lucas said.

“It's crazy, but...I really liked it.” Max said and I nod. “Yeah, same here.” I said and Lucas furrows his brow at us. “Liked it?” He asked. “Yeah.” Max and I said then I think. “Well, I mean, I had a few issues.” I said. “Issues?” Lucas asked me. “I felt it was a little derivative in parts.” I said and Max nods in agreement.

“What are you talking about?” Lucas asked me. “I just wish it had a little more originality. That's all. But you have a great imagination, Lucas.” I tell him. “You guys don't believe me?” Lucas asked and Max chuckles. “Lucas, come on, seriously? How gullible do you think we are?” Max argued.

“Why would I make this up?” Lucas asked, angrily. “I don't know. To impress me or something? Or you're just, like, insane.” Max said and Lucas stand up. “I tell you all of this. I mean, top-secret stuff. Risking my life. And this is how you react?” Lucas asked, annoyed and angry.

“Risking your life?” Max chuckles. “Oh, so this is funny to you?” Lucas asked. “Yeah. I mean...kind of funny. Stupid, but funny.” Max said. “I mean, Lucas, no disrespect but…you do realize how insane it sounds, right?” I said then I look over at Max. “C’mon, kiddo.” I said and we walk towards the door.

“Where are you two going?” Lucas asked us. “Story time's over, isn't it?” Max asked him and I open the door and we walk out of the office and into the main area of the arcade. “What's wrong with you? I gave you what you wanted.” Lucas said. “I wanted to be a part of the group, not a part of some joke. And not to lie to my sister.” Max said. 

“It's not a joke.” Lucas said. “You did a good job, okay? You can go tell the others I believed your lies if it gets you experience points or whatever.” Max sighs and we start to walk off but Lucas grabs her arm. “We have a lot of rules in our party, but the most important is, Friends don't lie. Never ever. No matter what.” Lucas tells us.

“Is that right?” Max said and she goes over to the Dig Dug and pulls off the Out of Order sign. “Then how do you explain this?” She asked him as she shoves the sign on his chest. “I had to do that. To protect you and your sister.” Lucas explains. “To protect us from who, exactly? The big bad government baddies from Hawkins Lab?” Max asked and Lucas looked worried. 

“Lower your voice.” He said. “Maybe it was to protect us from the Demogorgon from another dimension?” Max asked. “Max, I'm serious, shut up!” Lucas exclaimed. “Oh, no, no! You know what it was? It was Eleven. The girl...” Max started to say but Lucas places a hand over her mouth. “Hey!” I said as I grab Lucas’ shoulder. “Stop talking. You're going to get us killed.” Lucas said as I look at him then at Max.

“Do you guys understand?” Lucas asked with a serious look on his face and I remove my hand off of his shoulder. “You're serious?” I asked him as he removed his hand off of Max’s mouth. “I really wish I wasn't.” Lucas said and Max and I share a look. Then Max looks over at Lucas.

“Prove it.” She said. “I can't.” Lucas said. “So what? We’re supposed to just trust you?” Max asked him. “Yes.” Lucas said, exasperated, and I sighed then I look at Max. “C’mon, Max.” I said and we walk out of the arcade, Lucas follows after us as we get to the parking lot. 

“Do you guys believe me?” Lucas asked us and we stopped and I turn to him. “Max, get in the car.” I tell her and she gets in and I look at Lucas. “Look, Lucas, you seem like a good kid. And the others seem good as well. But…this whole story of the big bad government and Demogorgons and a girl with powers…is just unbelievable. If you can find away to prove this is all real without getting into trouble. Come find us.” I tell him and I head into the car and I start it before heading off, leaving Lucas standing in the parking lot.

Max lets out a frustrated growl. “I can’t believe that idiot! I mean, does he really expect us to believe him after only knowing each other for a couple of days?” Max asked, frustrated. “I know but…something about his tone is making me think he could be telling the truth.” I said and Max looks at me. 

“Seriously?” She asked me and I sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I’m still just getting my mind wrapped around what he told us. I mean, monsters, secret government experiments, a girl with superpowers, this sounds like a crazy fantasy thriller movie.” I said and Max sighs and folds her arms across her chest.

“Or like a shitty tv show.” Max grumbles and I chuckled. “I think it be pretty good.” I said and Max scoffs again. “Small towns really have the biggest weirdos.” She said and I laugh as we head off.

After I took Max out for ice cream since the arcade was a bust, we decided to head back home. Once we get inside, Billy was sitting in the living room, working out with a small dumbbell. “The hell I tell you, Max?” He asked, angrily, and we look at him, confused.

”What are you talking about?” I asked him. “I saw you two at the arcade earlier. I passed by and saw that…kid.” He growls and Max and I share a look. “Oh, Lucas?” Max asked and Billy scoffs. “So he has a name now, huh?” Billy asked as he sets his dumbbell down and stands up.

“It's a small town, okay? We weren't hanging out.” Max stammers. “Hmm. Well, you know what happens when you lie.” Billy said as he walks closer to us and I push Max behind me. “We’re not lying. Now, why don’t you go and find another girl to sleep with.” I sneered at him.

Billy glares over at me then grabs a fist full of my shirt and pulls me towards him. “Hey! Let her go!” Max said as she tried to grab at Billy’s fist. “Don’t get smart with me. You know what happens when you give me attitude.” Billy growls at me as I glare at him, doing my best to hide my fear.

Eventually, Billy lets go of my shirt then walks away and I take in a deep breath then look down at Max, who looked at me with fear in her face. I patted her head, assuring her I was fine, then I head to my room.

[canadianfangirl-95]

A Daisy through Concrete 

Modern AU no outbreak 36 y/o Joel Miller x f!reader 

Summary: You’re elated when you finally have a house to lease with your two children after a grueling year in your parents guest bedroom, post-divorce. Excited for a new chapter to your story, you’re even more excited when the Adlers introduce you to their neighbour, Joel.  

Series Warnings and Information: 18 + minors DNI, eventual smut, some rough sex, divorce, swearing, drinking, drug addiction, car-crash death, absentee mother/father, emergency c-section due to babies heart-rate falling discussed, if you can handle a show like How I met Your Mother or similar, you can handle this. You are responsible for the content you interact with.  

Masterlist

Chapter 4- WC 2900+  

Three Strikes 

Your coffee tastes sweeter the day after Joel comes over. The sun is shining a little brighter, and you’re seated comfortably on a patio chair, taking in the bright Spring Saturday morning. Mel and Jay are playing happily, kicking a soccer ball around as Mel is getting ready to start her first season of kid’s soccer. Jay is just happy to be involved, as usual. Your phone vibrates on the coffee table in front of you. Leaning forward, a smile stretches as you see Joel’s name light up the screen. Picking it up, you unlock your phone and swipe to his message.  

Mornin’ Daisy.  

Grinning, you quickly type back.  

Morning Joel, how’d you sleep? 

A few moments pass and the chat lights up again.  

Like a baby, actually haven’t slept that well in a while.  

Mm I wonder why 

You know damn well why young lady 

Sorry, I’ll try not you leave you all starry-eyed next time 

Well hey now, let’s not be rash 

Lol, so what’s up? 

I was thinkin bout the first date I wanna take ya on. Was thinking bout how you said how you and your daddy liked the Rangers, we could go on Saturday at 4, Sarah can babysit. If ya want? 

Your pulse quickens and your lip quivers at his offer. You haven’t been asked out in a long, long time, but you’re pretty sure this is exactly how all the girls in your favourite rom coms felt when it happened for them.  

I would love that, tell Sarah thank you for me 

Sure will. I just told her that I wanted to take ya cuz I got tickets from a client and I knew ya liked baseball. Hope that’s ok. 

That’s perfect, thank you Joel. 

You bite your lip, suddenly overwhelmed with butterflies. You have a date. An actual real date with a genuinely good man. You’ve been worried, horrified by what the future dating world would entail. You heard far too many stories from Ashley about what dating in the 2020s was like. Manchildren, guys like the Kens from Barbie where they all played a rip off of a 2000s punk bands ballad on guitars, and men whose last remaining brain cells are fighting it off Jake Paul/Mike Tyson style. Long story short, disappointing.  

So, when Joel Miller, the incredibly handsome, big, single father, competent (hello new kink), man from next door, asked you to be his lady at the big game on Saturday. Well let’s just say, you could hardly wait. 

“So, Jay goes down at 8, but he’ll flip through his books for a few minutes after you put him down so if you hear him talking, he’s just talking about the stories and will lay down when he’s ready. After that you can put a movie on for you and Mel, she’ll fall asleep on the couch and then you can watch whatever you want on Netflix. Don’t worry about being loud, she sleeps like a rock.”  

“I do not.” Melody claps back.  

A brief shake of your head and you refute, “Last weekend I found you passed out with We Can Be Heroes literally blasting on your tv.” She crosses her arms and shakes her head at your proven point. “Not that I mind that movie,” you continue, “but I mean who doesn’t like the girl’s dad in that movie.” You comment with a joking tone and Sarah chuckles.  

“Gross mom, he’s like 50.” Your daughter says with a disgusted face.  

Chuckling, you sigh. “Yeah, actually not a deal breaker sweetheart. You’ll understand when you’re older.” You say with a wink, and she grimaces. Clapping your hands together you look around the countertop of set out drinks, food and instructions. “Alright, so I think that’s everything. We’ll be back by,” Looking up, Joel enters the kitchen, his broad shoulders pulling the life out of an old, faded Texas Rangers t-shirt. “9ish?” You ask him.  

Looking up from his fixated spot on the floor, he looks at all the girls staring back at him, and shrugs. “Maybe 10, case there’s traffic around the stadium or extra innings.”  

“Yeah, so we’ll be back by 10.” You confirm and Sarah nods her head.  

She smiles, “Not a problem. We’ll have a good time.”  

“Perfect, okay kiddos I’m gonna go. I’ll see you in the morning alright.” You say with a smile, your two children coming in to hug you and pass along goodnight kisses.  

Joel watches you with wide dreamy eyes, taking in the person you are as a mother. His smirk falters when he turns and takes in the look on his daughter’s face. All big eyed, lip pouted with a sly grin. Watching as he gazes at the women in front of him. His cheeks immediately blush, and he shakes his head before stepping past her. His hand rises to rub the top of her hair as he passes, “’Night.” He says flatly.  

“Dad.” He hears quietly, he stills, turning to look back at his young daughter.  

She rocks her head on her shoulders and then brings her hands up together, opening them wider as she mouths, “Open.”  

Joel nods discreetly and she smiles. She gives you a goodbye as you pass by her and head towards the front door with Joel. He steps just a bit ahead of you to take the door handle in his hand and pull open the door for you, giving a nod as you pass. You and Joel make your way over to his truck quietly, an under-lying tension between the two. You’ve already had your tongue down his throat and grinded down on him and now you’re supposed to act all casual on a first date. It feels suffocating to go backwards and not touch him now that you know how he feels. He jogs ahead to open your passenger side truck door, smiling as you pass him by and step up into his truck.  

Soon enough you’re on the road, watching the other cars hurrying to the stadium pass you by. He glances over the truck cab and his eyes track you from inch to inch. Nike running shoes, socks, bare legs due to the heat wave, a navy athletic dress with shorts underneath and a cross-body purse for your lip gloss and phone. He smirks, thinking you didn’t bring your wallet on account of expecting for him to pay. He knows he will, he’d be rude not to, but he likes that you seem to think of him like that kind of man. He struggles to keep his eyes on the road as you light up talking about Melodys school trip to the splash pad you got to go on this week. He can’t help but flick between the softness of your bare legs and the way your eyes shine in the afternoon sunlight as you recount a wonderful story. 

“Hot dogs, get your hot dogs here!” The walking concession sales guy yells over the sounds of the announcer. Joel throws his arm up and waves the guy over before turning to you, “You want one too?” 

Rocking your head of your shoulders, you make a thinking face. He smirks at your playfulness. “Sure, why not? Calories don’t count at the baseball stadium, right?” 

He smiles and shakes his head, “Trust me honey, you don’t gotta worry ‘bout that. Like ya just the way you are.” The hot dog guy stands half-way between two steps, leaning on the railing behind him. His blue and red pin striped uniform shirt sweaty from the days work, and his frosted tips hair style has you reminiscent of the boy bands of your youth. Joels pays for the two hot dogs and passes one down to you. You smile as you take it from him and immediately unwrap. 

Joel leans in, “Hey,” he says quietly to get your attention before raising his hot dog between the two of you. “Cheers.” he says with a smile.  

Chewing your bottom lip, you smirk. “Cheers.” Each of you bringing your hot dogs together to tap against each other. Chuckles breaking out between the two of you. 

Hot dogs eaten, a few too many beers and some sticky thighs later, you’re snuggled up against Joels strong arm, waiting for the last inning to end. An afternoon of sun and playful discussion has made your body tired and ready to relax. But your heart more open to the man beside you than before.  

“So, if this guy strikes out then it’s over.” He says, his hand settled on your knee, his thumb rubbing over it gently as you lean your head on him.  

The pitcher sets up, he pulls his arm back, he throws, the ball swirls through the air at an astronomic speed. The hitter throws his arms as fast as he can.  

“STRIKE ONE!” The announcer screams over the intercom.  

“Three strikes he’s out.” Joel comments, leaning into you.  

Your mind swirls as much as the ball did. The beer and sun overtaking you and you comment. “You think the three strikes rule applies to more than just baseball?”  

Joel furrows his eyebrows slightly, still watching the pitcher speak with the umpire. “How do you mean darlin’?” 

Letting out a huff of breath you explain. “Like, what if there are certain things in life you can only do three times, and if you fail at it three times, then you’re just done, and you might as well quit.”  

“Strike two!” 

“Like,” you continue, “I’ve tried skiing three times. Every single time, I fell flat on my face and with little to no improvement. What if that means I’m done, and I’ll just never ski. It’s not gonna work, might as well just quit.” Your mind drifts before asking quietly as the pitcher throws his last ball. “Do you think everybody has something like that?” 

Joel chews his lip as his eyes wander off, thinking of your proposition. 

“Strike three, you’re out!” 

His thoughts are halted as the crowd erupts into excitement. He quickly stands with you to join everyone as they cheer on the winning team, but an itch persists at the back of his mind.   

The way back is full of tension and laughter. Hands grazing thighs, eyes wandering a tad too long. Your panties are surely soaked by the time you pull into his laneway from the way he makes you swoon with just by a bash of those chocolate lashes of his. His hand rises to press the garage door button, and you wait patiently as the door moves in front of you and the truck creeps past silently into the darkness of the garage. The truck cab is motionless as the garage door closes behind. Leaving your faces barely illuminated by the internal lights of the truck and a luminescent beer sign on the wall above a toolbox.  

Joel turns to look at you, “Thanks, for coming with me. I had a great time.”  

Matching his smile, you say. “I did too, thanks for inviting me.” A warmth in your chest beginning to fester. 

A moment passes, the silence lingers, your eyes dart to each others’ lips. Wanting, needing that release. He hates that he knows what you taste like, what you sound like when you’re receiving pleasure, and he has to sit on the other side of the truck cab. Like a scorned child not allowed to play with his brand new and favourite toy.  

You don’t know if it’s the beer, the sun exhaustion or the way Joels eyes burn into you with every gaze, but the buzzing between your legs is driving you mad. Leaning towards him, he mimics your movement. The air feels thicker as his arm rises up to rest on the back of your seat. His calloused hand comes to gently stroke your cheek, your lashes flutter shut. 

“Daisy.” Joel whispers and slowly, you allow your eyes to rise and meet his. Only a few inches away now, a locked in stare at your quivering lips. A final breath before entering the zone you both so desperately yearn for. Suddenly, your breath stills as you feel his tongue lick into yours. Your lips quickly following the aggressive attack upon each other. His hand rises up to clutch the back of your head by your hair, and your hands curl around the neck of his Rangers shirt. A moan escapes his lips as your nails catch the plush skin of his reddened neck. His hands drop to your waist and begin to pull your body towards him. Taking his lead, you quickly jump to your knees and allow his arms to guide you over the console and into his lap. Joel’s broad hands immediately cupping your ass under the skirt and above the spandex shorts hidden beneath. His coffee brown curls that smell like Axe All-In-One slide through your fingers as he rocks your thinly covered core against his hardening jeans.  

Swaying like a ship at sea, you rock against him, his tongue memorizing the inside of your mouth as his hands grip your ass like a desperate man. A whimper slips out your swollen lips and he immediately picks up the pace, your clit catching aggressively on the swell of his pants. His mouth unlatches from yours, making its way down your heaving neck to your chest. Leaving sucks and nips all along the way. A trail of him marked by dampness and a loss of breath. When he reaches your budding breasts, he looks up at you, seeking your eyes for approval of taking a run at the next base. When your tongue darts out to wet your puffy bottom lip, he reaches up and tugs the top of your dress down, allowing your pebbled nipples to be cooled by the brisk stillness of the air after the ac has been turned off.  

Your back arching into him as you rock against him and his tongue swirls around your nipple. His strong hand squeezing the other, your climax is slowly approaching, you whisper “yes” under your breath as you teeter over the edge. Another swift scratch of his hardened cock through his jeans against your sensitive clit pushes you into an intense orgasm. You can’t remember them feeling this good with your ex, and your vibrator pales in comparison. He releases your nipple with a suction sound, returning to swallow your moans and whimpers as he continues to rock against your stiffening body.  

Deep breathes release from your mouths as you come down from your high and his body stills, allowing you to fall into him. Resting your exhausted and sensitive body against hills, still rising heavily.  

“Shit.” You whisper and he chuckles. “Thanks for that.”  

Joel grins and places a kiss to your forehead, “I should thank you, fuck that was sexy.”  

You laugh and heave yourself up, “I should uh, probably be getting home. What time is it?” You ask, looking around for your phone.  

He snatches his off the dash and taps the screen, the light illuminating his red face. “9:43.” He says and you nod.  

“Be home by 10, good thinking Miller.” You comment with a wink. “You expected to need a little extra time?” 

Shaking his head with a smile, “Thought it might not be a bad idea, considering the last time we had some alone time.”  

Nodding, you pop your eyebrows up and down at his point and roll yourself back over into the passenger seat. “You comin’ with me?” You ask, your hand grasping the handle. 

Joel bites him bottom lip and then looks down uncomfortably, “I uh, I think I need to go to washroom for a moment darlin’.” He says embarrassed.  

Your head dips as you contain a laugh, “Alright why don’t you do that and I’ll stand on the porch when she leaves, make sure she gets home?” 

“Perfect.” You both open your doors and hop out. He hits the garage door opener again and it chugs as it rises. Once outside, you step far enough that he’ll be able to watch as you cross the lawn, turning to him, and his hands come to your waist.  

“Not leavin’ ya all starry eyed again, am I?” You ask with a smirk.  

Looking away at the glimmering moonlight, he chuckles. “’Fraid ya are, Daisy.” His warm eyes turning to yours again, “Don’t mind a little less sleep if it’s because I get to spend time with you.”  

Your chest flutters and you lean in, each of your embracing a simple yet meaningful kiss. Not a goodbye, just a goodbye for now.  

It tickles as his hand trails through yours, slipping through your fingertips as you make your way through the front yard.  

Once inside, you take in the sight of Sarah seated comfortably on the couch with her phone in hand, the end of a movie playing in the background with little Mel sound asleep on her pillow. Sarah and you depart from the room, snickering about Mel’s current state for someone who “doesn’t sleep like a rock” and make your way outside. Standing at the end of the porch, you exchange goodbyes and thank yous as you make good on your promise to Joel. As she reaches the front door, it opens automatically, and you hear the vague hum of a “Hey Kiddo” from Joel’s vibrative voice. The gentle night wind swirls through the green and fresh leaves as Joel steps into view. You smile and raise your hand to wave at him. He smirks; his hand raising to his mouth to push a kiss between his fingers and then blow them out at you across the yard. His admiration floating through the air, each staring for a moment too long before turning on your heels. As you approach the door, you allow yourself to breathe in one last breath of what will surely be, the air of one of your favourite Spring nights.  

Chapter 3 - Chapter 5